Body and Soul
by InSilva
Summary: Early Rusty. A chance encounter leads to a different path in life. Rated for non-explicit themes and, no doubt, occasional profanity. In progress.
1. Carpe Diem

Body and Soul by InSilva

Summary: Early Rusty. A chance encounter leads to a different path in life.

Disclaimer: own nothing and no one.

A/N: I'm declaring up front that I have absolutely no idea how long this story is going to be. More than one chapter, that's for sure. I also have no idea how often I'm going to update it especially with the other multi-chapter fics I have on the go. So there you are, that's two good reasons for you to stop reading right now.

But if you are continuing…this story started off in the chapter of "Justice" which is called "Absolution" and I'm beginning with the same scene but from Rusty's pov. So, if you've read "Justice", this may all seem a little familiar and sorry: and if not, then it won't. :-)

Oh, and this is for the usual suspect. And for anyone else who said they'd like to read more on this.

Chapter One: Carpe Diem

* * *

Leaning against the wall, he wondered yet again why, no matter what the weather, he always felt cold. He was trying his best to remain unseen. It was a skill he'd become adept at: hiding his hair under a cap, hiding his body in ordinary clothes, hiding his face…yeah, that was the hardest. Unless you counted how hard it was to hide his soul.

MacAvoy wanted to see him which could only mean one thing and if he could have afforded not to be so obliging, he would have done. He hadn't eaten since yesterday lunchtime though and that had been light pickings. MacAvoy always seemed to coincide with his hungriest times.

It was how he'd fallen into this in the first instance - _"You look like you could do with a warm place to stay for the night, my lad. Come along with me. I know somewhere that will do". _Somewhere that was indeed warm and dry and relatively clean and no strings attached to begin with but by and by the gateway to hell.

Hunger and desperation and a fight for survival that had found him at his most vulnerable and MacAvoy had been there to take full advantage. Not personally, of course. MacAvoy wasn't interested in that way. MacAvoy was all about MacAvoy and that meant transaction and money and profit.

And he was late. Not that that was unusual. Both he and MacAvoy knew who pulled the strings. Rusty looked up as the clouds started to squall and then light rain started to fall. He pulled his cap from his head and stood, face turned upwards, eyes closed, letting the water wash over him. It felt warm and cleansing and oddly comforting.

As it died away, he ran his hands through his hair to knock the drops away. The water was running down his cheeks and he fished into his jeans pocket for an almost clean handkerchief to wipe his face before pulling his cap back on. As he did so, he saw MacAvoy bustling along the street, looking as cheerfully insincere as ever. He left the wall behind and crossed over, timing his walk to match MacAvoy's arrival at the diner entrance.

"Good to see you again," MacAvoy beamed and Rusty really wished he could say the same.

MacAvoy never expected much of a response which was lucky because Rusty rarely felt like offering one. He seemed to get by with monosyllables and nods and MacAvoy didn't appear to mind in the least.

"After you." MacAvoy held the door open and Rusty walked in front of him.

The diner was mostly empty. Rusty saw a couple at the counter and an old man who must be forty if he was a day and that was it. He heard MacAvoy shout over an order for espressos and toast and he resigned himself to forcing down yet another strong coffee. MacAvoy ordered what he liked, expecting everyone else to fall in with him and Rusty was never going to argue. He headed towards a table at random and took a seat, back to the door, always ready for a sharp exit. MacAvoy sat down opposite.

"So, how are you keeping?" MacAvoy said in the annoyingly breezy manner he displayed with equally annoying regularity. It was accompanied by the smile that Rusty longed to hit.

"Fine. Just fine." It was what MacAvoy wanted to hear.

Their order arrived and he watched as MacAvoy snatched a piece of toast from the plate and ate it with obscene haste. Rusty knew better than to imagine the other piece was for him. His eyes were still drawn to it though as he spooned sugar into the coffee in an effort to make it palatable.

"Got a possible for you tonight," MacAvoy began, getting down to business and Rusty found himself wishing he'd spent longer on pointless small talk. Talking about it brought it that much closer.

"If you're interested, come by about eight, OK?"

"Eight." Rusty sipped the vile-tasting coffee and saw MacAvoy inevitably claim the last piece of toast.

"He's asking for a type. Figure I'll show him a few, let him choose."

"Sure." Was it possible to hate MacAvoy more simply because of the way he ate?

"Although if you ask me? I think once he's seen you, he'll have to have you."

Oh, not just because of the way he ate. Rusty knew MacAvoy was simply trying to be encouraging. Supportive, even. His fingers tightened on the coffee cup and he contemplated ways he might inflict damage with ordinary crockery while MacAvoy finished the toast and drank his coffee down.

"See you later," he smiled and left the table, oozing smugness in his wake.

Later. Later and a line-up: those were hateful. Mercifully few and far between but hateful nonetheless. The humiliation of standing shoulder to shoulder with two or three others while the goods were inspected. Sometimes he knew the others, sometimes not. He always fixed his gaze somewhere on the wall, somewhere near the lampshade with the green tassels that knotted and intertwined and defied counting, pretending not to hear the comments, pretending not to feel the appraising fingers on his arms and shoulders, lifting his chin and turning his face from side to side. As long as he focused on the lampshade, as long as he traced the knots with his eyes and tried to work out how they unravelled, as long as he paid as little attention as he could, he wasn't there.

He was always chosen. MacAvoy said at one point it was because he didn't try too hard, because he looked as if he wasn't really bothered whether or not he was selected.

"_Good ploy," MacAvoy had approved and he fought back the urge to shout out that it was nothing to do with tactics or indifference._

He gave himself a mental shake and looked down at the dark liquid in the cup. Maybe five spoons of sugar would make it taste better; he'd have to experiment. He threw it back and stood up, suddenly realising he was being watched. The old guy. A table down. His eyes all over him. Well, not the first time and probably not the last. Rusty knew the procedure.

Turning unblinking blue eyes in the old man's direction, he said, "If you're interested, you need to talk to MacAvoy."

The man's reaction was amusing. "I'll have you know I'm a happily married man!"

Right. He only heard that from one trick in three. Those who buried themselves in some sort of denial. Those who tried to make him feel like it was somehow his fault. Those who could not possibly make him feel more unclean than he already did.

"I assure you, I'm not interested in that way."

There was something in the old man's voice that rang true on that point. Rusty scanned his face, looking for reasons.

"Just curious, old man?" he said, his tone contemptuous.

"Yes and no. I mean, I heard…and I can see…"

Oh, no. That was straying straight into the unforgivable. The area that Rusty would not permit.

"No pity," he spat back fiercely, eyes alight.

The old man sat back and echoed his words. "No pity." There was a new tone in the way he spoke: Rusty might almost have called it respect.

"I know what I'm doing," he insisted. He did know. He knew exactly what he was doing and what it meant and what the cost was.

The old man studied him and Rusty was left with the impression that he could actually see inside him. It unsettled him in the extreme.

"Take a seat, son." A hand was waved at the seat opposite and Rusty could feel the tension inside him building. Something about the other man suggested that his levels of perception were greater than normal. The last thing he wanted to handle was someone who could reach into him and pluck out the things he was trying his best to bury.

"I told you, I know what I'm doing," he repeated, throwing up defences. "I don't want your pity and I don't deal direct. You want me, you talk to MacAvoy."

"I just want to talk. And buy you a meal. You look like you could do with it."

That level gaze was fixed on Rusty again; that look that intimated the old man saw well beyond the surface. Rusty stared back at him, looking for a hidden agenda. There was nothing and he was surprised to find himself thinking about complying with the request. He was even more surprised when he discovered that he had made his mind up to sit down and did so.

The waitress was summoned.

"What do you want to eat?" the old man asked.

That was a first. He remembered the couple with missionary zeal who'd insisted on buying him lunch. It had been liver and onions with cabbage and he'd forced it down knowing it would make a reappearance later.

Rusty's eyes moved between the waitress and the old man. "Slice of cherry pie?"

The nod of the head indicated that that would be fine.

"With cream, hon?" the waitress asked.

"Yeah." Cream sounded good.

"Anything to drink?"

He wasn't sure how much latitude he was being given. A quick glance showed him the old man was still being accommodating.

"Strawberry milkshake?" he ventured. That was his definition of something to drink not the bitter-tasting stuff MacAvoy favoured.

"Sure. Anything else?" she glanced over at the old man who said "That'll do" and she disappeared.

Rusty sat in silence waiting, watching, waiting but the old man said nothing and the arrival of the order was very welcome in more ways than one.

The cherry pie tasted wonderful. Big, fat cherries, sweet syrup, thick pastry. And the cream had just been the right choice. As for the milkshake…Rusty thought it was simply heaven and he was sad when he came to the bottom of the glass. He pushed the plate and the glass to one side and looked across the table at his benefactor who surprised him yet again by holding his hand out.

"Saul Bloom," he said.

Rusty stared at Saul and then down at the hand. What was the man about? Guardedly, he reached over and shook it.

"Rusty Ryan," he said quickly. Saying his name aloud felt like giving a little bit of him away.

"Your parents called you Rusty?" There was doubt in Saul's voice.

"My parents called me Robert Charles. Rusty's just…" How to explain Rusty?

"A name MacAvoy gave you?"

"No," he said with the hint of a scowl at the very thought. He stared fiercely at Saul. "MacAvoy isn't about names. Rusty's…Rusty's just something I got stuck with when I was young." Impossible to explain, he decided.

He saw the old man nod and the mention of MacAvoy made something inside him rise up against the thought that perhaps he now knew exactly why he'd been bought a meal.

"You want my life story?" he snapped. It wouldn't be the first time someone had got off on it. "Is that the price for this meal? Shall I tell you the whats and the whens? 'Cos I'll be honest, I don't know the whos. And if you don't know the how and the why then…"

"No," came the firm answer. "Look, I understand that life can screw you over. I know that choices can be limited to very last resorts. And I can tell you that the last thing I planned to do when I sat down here for a coffee is what I'm about to do."

Yeah, life could screw you over. Big time. And that had been a very early lesson. And yes to last resorts and the feeling of overwhelming despair that brought you to the last resort and didn't lessen even when you took it. But what the hell did the old man mean by that last little line?

"I want to help," Saul continued and Rusty stared at him. "I want to show you that sometimes life can be surprising for the right reasons. I want to let you know that not everyone is like MacAvoy."

Frowning, he tried to digest what Saul had said and how he'd said it. He'd said it like he meant it.

"How can you help?" he asked slowly. "What do you want to do? Take me away from it all?"

And the old man nodded_. _Actually _nodded_.

"You're not serious." It was barely above a whisper. And somewhere inside he felt something stirring.

"I'm in town for the next three days. I'll come here at this time for the next three days. If you want to come back home with me, come and find me and let me know."

Do what…? Oh, yeah. He knew where this was going.

"Come home with you?" Rusty let the mistrust show. And he was kicking himself for that moment of hope.

"I told you. I'm happily married to a wonderful woman who-"

This was rich. He didn't bother to hide the sarcasm. "Who would understand and forgive and welcome-"

"Yes," the old man stopped him dead. "She's that sort of woman."

It was said with absolute honesty, he was certain. Rusty searched Saul's face, Saul's eyes, looking for truth and answers.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Many reasons. I hate to see beauty trapped and dying. I particularly abhor people like MacAvoy who prey on the innocent. But more than anything, when I look at you I can see the aptitude for so much more than you are currently engaged in. You have brains. You're blessed with good looks and grace. And those facts can get you a long way in life."

As Saul reeled off his explanation, Rusty felt his heart thumping loudly so that he was sure even the waitress at the counter could hear it. He couldn't say a thing. Numbly, he watched Saul pull his wallet out.

"What does MacAvoy charge and what do you get paid?"

Straightforward. No-nonsense. Well, Rusty could do that.

"Thirty dollars," he replied in similar vein. "I get twenty."

Sixty dollars appeared on his side of the table. His eyes were glued to the money.

"This is for tonight and the next two days. Take your time. Decide. If you want to, come back and find me."

The money disappeared into Rusty's pocket fast and part of his brain was already working out the distance to the door and whether anyone was likely to stop him. But sixty dollars… The old man must believe something of what he was saying, surely. Something about the qualities within him…

He glared at Saul and had to say, "I'm going to get out of it. It's only short-term." It was. He was going to get away soon; as soon as opportunity came knocking; and soon as it did, he would seize it. You made your own luck but you were foolish if you didn't make the most of what life threw your way. "It's not forever."

"No."

The one word from Saul and again, Rusty had the sense that Saul was reading him, deep within him, seeing the self-loathing and the passion and every factor that made him. He returned the favour and searched for self-interest and manipulation and even religion. He found nothing but what the man had said.

"You're crazy," he whispered, suddenly frightened.

"Probably," came the answer.

He had to get out of there. He had to breathe even if it was stale city air. Even without running, he found the distance to the door to be as short as he had imagined.

* * *

With the money in his pocket, he stood MacAvoy up. It would cost him, he knew it. Probably MacAvoy would take his time about approaching him again though if there was money to be made, MacAvoy wouldn't bear a grudge. More likely the next in line would be this side of vicious. Probably not quite the man with the tattoo of the swordfish on his arm, though. That had been a one-off. Normally MacAvoy's vetting techniques weeded out the violent and the absolutely perverted. MacAvoy didn't want any trouble; certainly not bodies or trips to the hospital or questions from the authorities.

MacAvoy had patched him up that time and made soothing noises and given him some money and tempted him back with a couple of easy clients who only wanted to watch. But Rusty had seen MacAvoy's eyes. He'd seen him store up the knowledge and he didn't doubt that MacAvoy would use it to his advantage. Why wouldn't he? So yes, denying MacAvoy had its risks but they were short-term, just until it stopped rankling. All he had to do was to keep out of his way until it blew over.

The next day, he avoided his usual haunts and hung about down at the shopping mall instead; eating fast food and watching people with happier lives walk by.

Something in him made him check out the diner at the appointed time. Not directly, of course. He waited till there was a group of people heading down the street and tagged along, glancing in through the window. Saul was sat there. He was there again the second day as well and Rusty came away more perplexed than ever. No one would just help. Would they?

He was sat by the indoor fountain near the food court on the lunchtime of the third day when a familiar voice spoke in his ear.

"Found you, my lad. You have led me a merry chase."

MacAvoy. Bright-eyed, smile gleaming.

"You didn't turn up the other night. I was worried."

"Sorry. Didn't feel well."

"Nothing serious, I hope." MacAvoy's eyes were still bright but they were hard like little diamond knives.

"I'm better now," he said carefully. MacAvoy knew something, he could tell.

Sure enough, MacAvoy's next words were: "I hear you've come in to a bit of money. You've been seen spending."

If he knew he had money, he would think-

"Been branching out, my lad?" The question was soft but the threat was real. "Been doing a little direct sales?"

"No," he said and for once he didn't have to lie. "I know what the score is. I never deal direct."

"So where's the windfall come from? Something you want to share?"

"An old man's wallet. It fell open."

Let him think he was a thief or a liar or both.

MacAvoy's eyes bored into his and he held up under the scrutiny and liked to think he'd have done the same if there had been a lie to defend. Whatever he read, MacAvoy appeared to believe him and his attitude softened.

"Well, I'm glad you had a little luck, my lad. If you'd like to call round about six tonight, perhaps I can provide you with a little more."

"Six."

"See you later. Don't be sick." And that was a second chance.

After he'd left, Rusty sat still and thought about another chance offered and trust and seizing the moment. It felt like absolute madness. It felt like everything that should be wrong and it felt like everything that could be right.

* * *

Back at his room, he'd picked up a bag with his toothbrush and a change of clothes and he'd walked in a daze to the diner. To Saul. To a possible salvation.

Walking up to Saul, seeing the relief break in his eyes and the warmth of the smile on his face, Rusty found himself locking down on any instinctive attempt to reciprocate. Not yet. Not by a long way.

"Alright, old man," he said, putting the bag on the diner table. "I'll give you the benefit."

Saul stood up and beamed and it was as far away from MacAvoy as Rusty could have imagined. Something inside Rusty said this just might be a smart decision.


	2. Saul's Place

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: Do not own Saul, do not own Rusty.

Chapter Two: Saul's Place

* * *

Two hours later and Rusty was wondering how smart the decision really was. It was too late to turn back though. He'd never get to MacAvoy's in time for six and he knew better than to expect a third chance.

Saul had shaken his hand and looked him in the eye and said an unexpected "Thank you". Then he'd led him to an ordinary-looking Dodge and thrown open the trunk for him to drop his bag inside. Reluctantly, he'd done so. It felt like separation. And getting his bag back was now an obstacle. He figured though that the old man deserved some sort of assurance that he wasn't just going to cut and run.

"We're headed for New Jersey," Saul had said as he started the car and Rusty had nodded.

Saul could just as easily have said the moon. New Jersey was just a name. He tried to think of everything he knew about the state. Alphabetically, it was sandwiched in between Nevada and New Mexico. And it was home to Atlantic City: America's playground.

"What sort of music do you like?" the old man had asked.

He hadn't known how to answer that one. Music was snatched songs on radios playing in the street or blaring through the windows of cars that passed. It was found in street performers with guitars and keyboards and occasionally amazing voices. It was the sound of the piano at the upmarket bar on Maple Street which floated out of the door when he passed by.

Saul seemed to sense his awkwardness.

"Try and tune this in to something you want to listen to," he said, indicating the car radio. "Me, I'm not so fussed. A little Sinatra, a little Ella…mostly I try to catch the news and sport."

He'd scanned the stations finally locking on to a local radio show with an overenthusiastic host and light, frothy songs that took the edge off the silence.

The silence wasn't awkward, it just lay there between them. Saul seemed content to concentrate on driving, passing the occasional comment, polite or otherwise at other road users.

"Sleep if you want," he'd offered. "We won't get home much before nine."

Rusty had closed his eyes but he hadn't slept. Instead he'd stared at the back of his eyelids and tried to work through the mix of emotions rushing through him.

This was escape – an escape, he corrected himself – and all the ensuing excitement and adrenaline and fear and anxiety coursed through him. It could be worse, a voice whispered, and he thought of MacAvoy and the familiar and part of him yearned for what he knew, what he could cope with. It could be better, another voice said and he wondered if he really dared to think that.

* * *

The car stopped and he opened his eyes to find they'd pulled in to a gas station with a little shop and a phone booth.

"I'm going to fill her up," Saul said. "You want to go and find some food?"

He started to dig into his wallet and Rusty shook his head.

"You gave me money three days ago," he reminded him. "What do you want?"

Saul gave a slight smile. "Sandwich and a coffee'll do fine."

Rusty was busy trying to balance two cans of Coke, two large bags of potato chips, three bars of chocolate, a bag of popcorn, a ham and pickle on rye and the coffee.

Saul came in to pay and he took in Rusty's laden arms. He smiled and Rusty found his mouth turn into an answering grin.

"Out of my way, old man."

Two men in their early twenties shouldered Saul to one side on their way to the cash desk. Rusty frowned but Saul didn't seem to mind. They paid and as they turned to leave, they found an apologetic Saul who danced from one foot to another trying to get out of their way before bumping into one of them.

"Move!" the man snarled and pushed Saul hard enough that he lost his footing and slipped to the floor.

"What are you looking at, kid?" the other asked as automatically, Rusty took a step forward and then stopped.

_Not much_, was the answer he bit back on.

"Want to get lippy with me? You want to take me on?"

No. No, he didn't. That would not be a sensible move. That would be the equivalent of spending time with Dockside Barrie before he shot up or even after he'd shot up. Back down, back down, you can't take him on. He took a deliberate step back and dropped his gaze.

"That's right, boy. And don't you forget it."

The two men left and Saul advanced to the cash desk.

"Gas on number five," he said. "And whatever this young man is carrying."

Rusty dumped the groceries on the cash desk and scowled at Saul.

"I told you you didn't have to pay," he said in a voice low enough for the cashier not to hear.

Saul looked at him levelly and produced a wallet that wasn't his.

"I'm not," he said just as quietly and Rusty's mouth dropped open.

* * *

Saul dropped the wallet minus the cash near the gas station door and they climbed back into the car.

In between handfuls of chips and popcorn and swigs of Coke and bites of chocolate, Rusty stared at Saul. When he'd finished his sandwich, Saul shot him a glance back.

"Horrified? Outraged? Disgusted?"

Rusty shook his head. None of the above. Surprised was probably the closest and the politest word. Surprised at the elegance, the skill, the neatness of the revenge.

"You alright?"

Alright? Yeah…the idea just took a bit of getting used to. He nodded and Saul seemed satisfied.

* * *

The streetlights were on as they pulled into the drive of an old, rambling house. A woman in her thirties, brown hair pulled back behind her ears, brown eyes that looked like they laughed often and a face that looked like it smiled a lot, opened the door, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Saul!" she beamed.

"Rusty, this is my wife, Annie. Annie, this is Rusty Ryan. He's come to stay."

Annie looked at Rusty and her face lit up. And she threw her arms around Rusty and hugged him. Awkwardly, he hung in her embrace and stared straight ahead until she let him go.

"Come on through, both of you," Annie said warmly, stepping back into the lighted hall. "I'm making dinner."

Saul showed Rusty up to a room at the back of the house. It was a good size with a single bed that had been made up clean and fresh.

"Called Annie from the gas station," Saul said. "Told her I was bringing someone home."

He turned to Rusty.

"This is your room," he said and Rusty heard the offer and he nodded acceptance.

"You want to unpack," Saul suggested, "then come on down. Annie'll be busy laying the table."

He left Rusty to it and Rusty sat on the edge of the bed and looked round. The walls were painted china blue and the carpet was fawn and the furniture was old pine. There was a dressing table with a mirror and a chest of drawers and a closet. The curtains that hung at the window were cream with some sort of swirly pattern embossed in them. The overhead light was encased in a curved cream lampshade. It was a million miles from MacAvoy's place and it felt safe.

Unpack, Saul had said. Rusty unzipped his bag, opened a drawer and put his change of clothes inside. That hadn't taken long. He fished out his toothbrush and left it on top of the dressing table and then he sat back down again on the bed and tried to stop his heart thumping so hard in his chest.

Saul had been unexpected. And everything he himself had done since that meeting three days ago had been unexpected too. Sitting and listening; not going to MacAvoy; taking Saul at his word… And then Saul lifting the wallet, Annie's welcome… Rusty looked round the room. There must be something at the bottom of this. There had to be.

* * *

Dinner was a roast chicken with all the trimmings and Rusty could not take his eyes off the food. The table looked like it was groaning under the weight of the dishes.

Saul sat at the head and Rusty took the empty chair opposite Annie.

"I hope you like chicken, Rusty," she said hesitantly. "You'll have to let me know what you like."

"I like chicken, Mrs Bloom," he assured her and her smile was wide.

"No one calls me Mrs Bloom except the mailman and my doctor," she said. "Please call me Annie."

Rusty nodded and then watched as a plate was piled high with meat and vegetables and passed to him. He looked down at it and then up at Saul and Annie and stared hard at both of them.

"You want me to go to church or Bible classes or something?" he asked wonderingly and Saul gave a roar of laughter.

Annie giggled loudly too and Rusty had felt his lips twitch, felt laughter bubble up inside him and fall out of his mouth. He didn't understand why they were laughing at the question but he liked the sound of it. It was infectious and they weren't laughing at him, they were laughing at something…

"Do you?" he asked again and Saul shook his head.

"No church. No Bible classes. Nothing you don't want to do."

And if Saul had been looking a little more closely at Rusty and a little less closely at the gravy he was pouring, he might have seen the slightest frisson.

* * *

He'd offered to do the washing-up but Annie had shooed him away and now he and Saul sat at the table listening to dishes and water and soap suds in another room.

"Something you need to know, Rusty," Saul said. "I'm not going to ask. I'm never going to ask. Any time you want to tell me, that's fine, though. Any time you want to share, you do so."

That seemed fair. Well, while they were laying down how it was going to be, Rusty had a stipulation of his own.

"I'm not going to school."

"OK."

"I can read, I can write and I pick things up real fast."

"I'm sure," Saul smiled.

* * *

Saul climbed into bed and found himself holding Annie as she wriggled into his embrace. He kissed the top of her head and she smiled into his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him.

"You mad at me?" he asked, knowing her answer.

"You'd know if I were."

"He's…" Saul tailed off.

"He's beautiful and he was trapped and you did the only thing you could do," Annie finished. "And it's why I love you so very much."

"You're an unusual woman, Annie."

"You're not so ordinary yourself, Saul." She paused and then hesitantly asked, "Was it- was it very awful for him?"

Saul was silent for a moment and thought about what he'd seen and heard in the diner; what Rusty had automatically thought of him; what he'd read in Rusty's eyes.

"I think it was a living hell," he said simply. "The boy's bright enough to know what he was doing. Bright enough to know he was being used and to despise the man responsible. Too desperate to turn the work down and all the while hating himself for letting it happen. And it's happened a lot."

"Oh, Saul…" Annie whispered and she hugged him more tightly.

"Don't think he's known much love, Annie. And there's a lot of pride and hurt and anger wrapped up in him."

"Did I do wrong, Saul?" She spoke so low that he almost didn't catch her words.

"When?"

"When he arrived. When I hugged him. And when I kissed him goodnight. He felt so tense…"

"Doubt anyone's done that to him in a while, Annie. Doesn't mean it's a bad thing." He kissed the top of her head again. "And you just carry on being you."

* * *

He lay that night looking up at the ceiling which was mercifully without artex and thinking hard. _Nothing you don't want to do,_ Saul had said and he could hear the same words falling out of MacAvoy's lips. The stream of gushing compliments, the little things to be thankful for and then the easiest and hardest thing in the world to reciprocate. He closed his eyes and squeezed away thoughts of MacAvoy and hoped he was wrong.


	3. Awakening

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: just playing in the playground.

A/N: just to thank everyone who's left reviews I can't reply personally to. They're really appreciated.

Chapter Three: Awakening

* * *

Disoriented, Rusty opened his eyes. He lifted his head off the pillow and stared round the room for a moment before he remembered and dropped back down to the bed. He was at Saul and Annie's.

He had no clear idea what time it was. It was light, he knew that much. And this was…he was almost certain it was a Friday. Friday the something of September. Rusty was definite about the month. He supposed he ought to be getting up. Reluctantly, he left the warm bed and pulled his jeans, top and sneakers on. There were some noises coming from downstairs and they were almost apologetic in nature as if someone were trying their damnedest to be as quiet as possible.

He found Annie in the kitchen with what looked like an army of bagels in front of her that she was slicing and toasting into submission.

"Morning!" Her face crinkled up to see him and he stopped in the doorway. "Did you sleep well?"

His sleep had been dreamless. And the bed had been comfortable enough that he hadn't wanted to leave it. He nodded automatically and then remembered himself.

"Yes, thank you," he said and Annie continued to beam.

"Saul's just popped out to pick up a paper and some milk. Can't think why we always manage to run out of the stuff. I'm sure I picked up plenty. Anyway, he won't be long - what is it?" she broke off and looked at Rusty's face.

Rusty's senses were on overload. The smell from the warm bagels that had his mouth already watering and imagining the taste, Annie's smile, bright and welcoming as it had been yesterday and…

"What…?" He strained as if trying to identify a sound.

Annie listened too for a moment and then laughed. "It's birdsong. Look."

Rusty stepped further into the room and looked over Annie's shoulder out the open window. There seemed to be a small wood.

"Just an orchard," Annie said, turning and looking out the window. "Apples mostly and some pears and plums. Some are running quite late this year. If you like, you can help me pick some later. You look like you'll be a lot better than I am up a ladder."

Rusty was still staring at the trees that seemed to go on forever. Annie pushed some plates into his hands.

"Pop these on the table, would you, Rusty?"

"Sure."

They started without Saul mostly because Annie could see Rusty's eyes staring at the pile of bagels as if they were going to disappear in front of him. She pushed the plate towards him and he took one, biting in to the warm bread.

"It's better with cream cheese," she suggested pushing a tub in his direction and he lathered it on to the bread and tried it: Annie was right.

"What would you like to drink? Tea or coffee or milk-oh. Actually, we'll have to wait for Saul for those," Annie giggled. "Er…juice? Or…"

"I picked up some strawberry milkshake along with the milk," Saul said, walking into the room. "Figured you might like some of that gloopy stuff."

He handed Annie the milk, dropped the paper on the table and gave Rusty something violently pink.

"Thanks," Rusty said taking the drink off him. He looked over at Annie. "I drink all of those, by the way…Annie."

He hesitated over using her name – names were precious and whatever she'd said last night, that had been last night - but she looked like he'd made her day and he relaxed.

Saul sat down at the table and lavished cream cheese on to a bagel. He looked over at Rusty with a speculative look and Rusty willed himself not to show the tension that suddenly flooded through him.

"I think today we'll go shopping," Saul announced, biting into the bagel.

* * *

The department store was about a half-hour ride away and Saul led Rusty unerringly to the menswear section.

"Here's the deal," Saul said and Rusty waited expectantly but the words that came out were: "You choose what clothes you like. Don't forget shoes and underwear and socks. Just get what you want. I'm going to sit here."

He chose a chair by the main till area and settled himself down with the paper.

Rusty looked at him for a moment and then over at the shopfloor and the many, many clothes. He swallowed. This was unknown territory. He walked hesitantly down an aisle nearby.

Saul watched him go, walking past the evening dress on display and looking up at the mannequin: the shell that wore the outfit and acted the part but was dead in all ways that mattered. Saul closed his eyes for a moment. He'd seen so many things in the boy's eyes apart from the aching misery. He hoped that it wouldn't take long before Rusty started to live.

Over by the formal and business section, he saw Rusty pause and run his fingers over the light silk shirts of varying hues as if he'd found some sort of wonder. The dark blue with the silver threaded through seemed to particularly entrance him. Then, he dropped the sleeve of the shirt and headed off to casual wear, finally picking out some cotton Ts and a pair of jeans. He looked round at Saul as if to ask if these would be OK and Saul nodded, giving a little sad smile to himself at the boy's pragmatism.

He stood up as Rusty returned with a neat pile of clothes and a pair of sneakers on top.

"You should get another pair of jeans," Saul said but Rusty shook his head.

"I don't need them."

"What about when they need to go in the wash?"

Rusty looked at him. "I…" He thought about it for a moment. "I guess I'll just have to wait till they dry."

"Jeans take a while," Saul smiled. "Get another pair."

* * *

When they got back, there was the welcoming smell of baking and Saul headed towards the kitchen with the air of one investigating. He bumped into Annie coming the other way who laughed and wagged her finger at him.

"They are hot out of the oven, Saul Bloom, and don't think I haven't counted them."

He grabbed her and planted a kiss on her cheek and she laughed again and pushed him on his way.

"What did you buy?" she asked looking at the bags with interest and Rusty pulled out the contents, a slight smile on his face as she oohed and aahed over the new clothes.

"Saul..." he began, "Saul and you…you're both very generous, Annie. I don't really feel comfortable taking-"

Annie waved that sentence to an end. "It's a pleasure, Rusty."

He tried again. "I don't want to take advantage-"

"Nonsense," she smiled. "I'm sure you'll be able to do something in return. Now. I'm going to draw you a bath and then you can freshen up and try on your new clothes while I see if my husband has left any cakes for us."

She squeezed his arm lightly and trotted out of the room.

Rusty watched her go and closed his eyes, his fingers digging in to the denim in his hands. She could have meant it any way, he told himself. Any way at all.

* * *

The bathroom was steamed up and the bath itself was full of bubbles. Rusty slipped into the water and felt the luxurious heat soak itself into his skin. He picked up the bar of soap and started to scrub his skin. There was a bottle of shampoo on the side and he lay back under the water to wet his head. then sat up and washed his hair.

He stayed in the bath until the bubbles had disappeared and his fingers and toes were wrinkled and then heard Annie calling his name.

"Rusty? Would you like to come down for some lunch?"

"Won't be a minute."

Standing up, he let the water out and stepped on to the fluffy mat, drying himself on the equally fluffy towel that Annie had left out for him and then pulling it around himself.

He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, running a hand through his hair, blond and fairer than ever now he'd washed the dirt out of it. It was short, against the style of the times. A few months back, he'd had his head shaved: MacAvoy had gone mad.

"_Are you stupid, lad? You need your head examining! Your hair is part of what sells! What were you thinking?"_

Actually, he'd been thinking exactly that. He'd been thinking about the man who wouldn't stop stroking his hair and the man who kept running his fingers through it and the man who had whispered into the back of his head that it was his hair that had made him choose him. If he couldn't do anything about his looks, he'd decided he could at least do something about his hair.

MacAvoy had insisted he grow it back.

"_You want to work, you show up looking at your best, lad. You think I can get top dollar for you scalped?"_

Now, the hair was a few inches all over. And MacAvoy hadn't withheld work and Rusty doubted that he'd been paid any less; he'd just not given him as big a cut.

The bubble bath had left a lavender aroma in the bathroom and…Rusty sniffed his arm…and it had permeated his skin. He smelt clean and perfumed and he wondered suddenly how he'd smelt before. It wasn't like he hadn't had the occasional bath at MacAvoy's flat and he'd always washed himself down. But you got used to what was around you and that included your own personal musk.

Unwillingly, he looked back down in the bath and pulled a face. The dirt left in the bottom was disgusting. He hadn't realised how deeply engrained the filth had been and the analogy frightened him. Turning the taps on, he washed it all away.

Dressed in new black jeans and a white T, he headed down the stairs to find Annie at the foot with a plate of thick cut bread, cheese and pickled onions and a glass of milk.

"Don't you look smart!" Annie said with a smile. "Come on outside, Rusty. Saul's already taken the plate of rock cakes with him. I think we'd better hurry."

Outside there was a table and chairs in the shade of an apple tree and Rusty took his seat alongside Saul.

"Did you enjoy your bath?" Saul asked.

"It was…very purple."

"That's Annie. She loves the bubbles."

Rusty looked over at Annie. "I quite like them too."

She laughed. "Well, that's two of us."

She cast her eye over the plate of cakes. "Hey! How many of these have you eaten, Saul?"

A look of guilt crept over Saul. "You could always bake some more," he suggested artlessly.

"I could but then you'll just eat them. It's like a never-ending circle…"

She looked at Rusty for support and sighed. Rusty had bypassed the cheese and pickled onions and bread and milk and had gone straight to the cakes.

* * *

After lunch, Rusty had wandered around the garden. It was home to about twenty mature trees, some of them still laden with fruit. The grass was long and the wooden fence that ran round the boundary could use a coat of paint. A little brook ran across the bottom of the garden and there was a cornfield beyond it.

It was the singular most peaceful place Rusty had ever been in. And he loved it.

Annie appeared with two large baskets. "Want to help me pick some apples? Saul always promises to help me but somehow he gets sidetracked."

Rusty looked over to where Saul was snoozing in the shade of the tree.

"That happens a lot," she assured him. "Often when there's washing up or wallpapering involved. Shall we start here?"

The tree didn't look difficult to climb. Rusty swung himself easily up on one of the lower branches.

"Hey! I didn't mean…there's a ladder!" Annie looked startled.

"I'm up now," Rusty shrugged.

The higher branches were effortlessly reached and Rusty plucked the fruit and dropped them down to Annie who caught them easily.

"I used to shin up there when I was a kid," Annie said. "Gave that up a while back."

"You lived here when you were a kid?" Rusty couldn't think of a better place to live and be young in.

"It's my family home," Annie said. "Moved back here with Saul when my parents died. About eight years or so now. I just love it."

Rusty dropped down to the ground and moved on to the next tree.

"How did you-" he broke off. He'd been going to ask how she'd met Saul but that was venturing way into the personal.

Annie seemed to hear the rest of the question anyway. "Met him at a party. Someone he was with started chatting me up and I just saw Saul standing there by the punch, looking at me as if I were the only girl in the world. And I thought "That's the man I'm going to marry"."

The memory made her smile. "He says he was just thinking about having another glass of punch. But that's men for you. Always thinking short-term. You go on a date and they're wondering if they're going to see you again at the weekend. You're already picking out the flowers and choosing baby names." She shrugged. "Just the way our brains work, I guess."

She looked up at Rusty. "I asked him out, you know. I felt terribly daring. And I didn't know what he'd think of me. Awfully forward. Even for a Jersey girl."

"He said yes, though, right?"

Annie nodded. "He said yes."

They filled the baskets and Rusty carried them to the kitchen for Annie.

"I'm going to make apple crumble for dinner. Do you want to help me peel these?"

She held out a knife and Rusty took it, picking up the nearest piece of fruit. They sat skinning the apples and Rusty found the silence was like the silence in the car with Saul: not awkward, just there.

"Apple crumble's OK, isn't it?" Annie said suddenly. "You will tell me what you don't like, won't you?"

There were several things he didn't like, several things that made him bite his lip or drive his fingers into his palm or close his eyes tightly. But apple crumble wasn't one of them.

"It sounds great."

"Do you eat everything?" she asked curiously and he blinked at her.

"I don't care much for liver or kidney."

"Don't worry," Annie laughed. "Neither finds its way on to my table."

He watched her as she chopped the fruit and made the crumble. She looked so at home and happy creating the dish and almost as if she'd forgotten he was there, she started humming. Rusty gave a slight smile and as he did so, she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and gave a smile in return.

"It's nice to have you to stay, Rusty. I hope you're happy here."

And he hoped so, so very much too.


	4. Getting One's Bearings

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: I do not own Rusty. (Off to write that out a hundred times in the manner of Bart Simpson).

Chapter Four: Getting One's Bearings

* * *

Rusty had the layout of the house down pat. Front door opened into hall and stairs. Right-hand side was the enormous lounge, left-hand side was the study and the dining room and at the end of the hall was the kitchen. Upstairs were the four bedrooms, two of which were storerooms full of books and junk, and the family-sized bathroom. There was an attic, there was a cellar and there was the orchard which had immediately become his favourite place to be.

Right now, he was staring out of his bedroom window at the trees and wondering when he had ever seen that much greenery. As for the birds…well. He only knew pigeons. Pigeons were the enemy. They were rivals for thrown away food. Plus they crapped on you.

He wandered down the stairs and found Annie already up and busy in the kitchen. She must be a really early morning person. She was always up before him and he didn't think he slept in.

"Cereal?" Annie asked. "We've got cornflakes or…" She checked in the cupboard. "Actually, we've got cornflakes."

"Thanks."

Saul walked in with a paper as was his wont and they both munched their way through a bowl of Kellogg's finest.

"I was wondering how we should introduce you," Saul said.

_To what? To whom?_ Rusty made himself concentrate on the cornflakes.

"Couldn't he be your nephew?" Annie suggested. "Come to live with us?"

Saul nodded slowly. "I guess…" He looked over at Rusty. "What do you think? Fancy having me as an uncle?"

"Sure," Rusty said quickly, keeping his head low over the bowl, not seeing Saul's frown and Annie's puzzled look.

He remembered his last "uncle". That had been one of the little excursions away from MacAvoy's place. That had been a trip to an expensive hotel (_"You're here to see your uncle, lad. Room 535. These clothes I've bought you. I've got the receipt and we can take them back tomorrow. But if you so much as get a mark on them, I'm taking it out of your cut.") _and a wealthy man and it had been champagne that he'd refused and satin sheets that he would have given anything to say no to. But Saul hadn't meant it that way. He was sure he hadn't.

"Why don't you go out and about today?" Saul said gently. "Have a look round."

Sure. Check out the streets. Learn the places. Know the people. See the competition. Find out where the best haunts were. Or…you know…just have a look round.

* * *

Saul and Annie's house was part of a group of three on the way out of town, flanked by two others of a similar age. One was inhabited by the Sandwood sisters, Iris and Marge. _"The girls next door," Annie had said. "They were the girls next door when I was growing up. They must be seventy now if they're a day."_ The other was owned by Hilary and Bert. Who were indeed seventy. _"My parents' age group," Annie'd shrugged. "They still think I'm some gawky youngster. Suppose I am, compared to them."_

Rusty wandered down the road, the buildings getting more frequent and clustered together. He passed the little newsagent that Saul undoubtedly called in for his paper each morning and paused. He could do with a little chocolate rush.

The shop assistant was reading a newspaper that was spread across the counter. He looked up and gave Rusty a nod of acknowledgement followed by a frown that said he couldn't recall seeing him before. Rusty thought that was probably a patented shop keeper expression. It was usually followed by…yeah, there it was…the narrowing of the eyes and the _"Just watch yourself"_ look.

He gave a jerk of his head in response and studied the layout, sizing up the possibilities and the opportunities automatically before he remembered two things. One, he could never take anything from a shop that had Saul as a regular. And two, he hadn't had to spend money on rent or food or heat or electricity or anything unexpected: he still had funds.

The sweets and chocolate bars were close to the counter and he studied the choices, trying to decide which combination of caramel, nuts, nougat and fruit to go for. The door went behind him and he heard a giggle of girls enter. He heard the volume increase and then decrease into whispers and he could feel them watching him.

He heard the word "cute" and his mouth twitched. That was a new one. "Blondie", often. "Boy", nearly always. And the ever despicable "lad". "Cute" never came into it.

_Hershey bar_, he decided. _Two Hershey bars,_ he clarified. You could never have enough chocolate. Especially when rationing wasn't necessary. He made the purchase and left the shop, knowing without seeing that the four girls' eyes were following his every move.

* * *

"How do you think he's doing?" Saul asked Annie as they did the washing up.

"OK, I think…" she stopped and turned to Saul, her hands full of soap. "I don't know," she confessed. "It's so hard to know what he's really thinking. I see him almost say something sometimes but he bites back on it and then his eyes cloud over..."

"Yes." Saul had seen that too. "Like he's in an argument with himself."

"Exactly! But I think he likes it here," she said slowly. "Oh, he loves the garden, Saul. And he stayed in that bath for so long. And the food! He clears his plate with such…" she tailed off and sighed.

Saul reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

"He's never known it, has he?" she said sadly.

"Come here," Saul ordered, wrapping his arms round her and ignoring her protests about her wet hands. "He knows it now. And he's never going to be without again. We'll see to that."

His gaze fell out of the window and he gave a mild curse. Startled, Annie looked out over the garden and the rain falling.

"We didn't buy him a coat."

* * *

Rusty stood, arms folded, in the doorway and looked out at the rain that was getting stronger. This looked like "soak you through to the bone" rain: his favourite.

The town had soon been trekked round. A few shops, a few bars, a couple of diners, a church, offices…it had an air of gentleness and community and time seemed to be back a couple of decades behind the city he'd been living in.

People had noticed him and that in itself was not unusual. That was the reason he had taken to hiding himself and he had suddenly been sorry he wasn't wearing his old faded clothes and the red cap that were sitting back on top of the chest of drawers. Their stares made him keep moving, walking in the shadows, not meeting anyone's gaze.

Then he'd caught sight of a couple of faces in a shop window and he had seen just plain curiosity. Nothing else. It was a small town. He was new. That was all there was to it. He sighed to himself. This was going to take some getting used to.

The rain died down eventually and he wandered back along the streets, wondering whether he _could_ get used to this. And a little voice at the back of his head kept asking whether there was anything else he should be wondering about getting used to.

He passed by a small shop and hesitated for a moment. Then he decided it could do no harm and ducked inside.

* * *

With what Annie would come to think of in the future as unerring timing, he arrived back in time for lunch.

"Rusty!" she smiled, opening the door to his knock. "How wet did you get?"

"It wasn't so bad," Rusty said. He stood on the step for a moment and Annie didn't need Saul's eyes to see the turmoil, his eyes shifting, his face looking hot with…was that embarrassment?

She was about to voice her concern when he suddenly thrust a small bunch of freesias at her.

"Here," he said. "I wanted to say thank you for…for everything."

Annie looked down at the flowers and up at Rusty, awkward and unsure, and she did what came naturally and threw her arms round him, hugging him tightly. She couldn't stop the tears that started to run down her cheeks and as she broke away, Rusty frowned.

"I didn't mean to make you cry. They're wrong, right?" He pulled a face and muttered, "I knew it."

"No," Annie shook her head and blinking back the tears. "They're perfect."

"Really?" Rusty didn't look convinced.

"Really," she assured him. "Now, come on in and help with lunch.

* * *

The freesias found their way to the kitchen windowsill.

Saul disappeared in the afternoon on unknown business. Rusty had hoped to sit outside under the trees but the rain had started again and instead he found himself sitting in the lounge watching Annie who had her glasses on and her head bent over a half-done jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table.

She looked over at the easy chair where he was perched with a bowl of chocolate ice-cream.

"Do you want to come and help me?"

He finished the last spoonful of ice-cream and sat down next to her on the saggy couch, picking up the box lid. It was a picture of a painting.

"'The Fighting Tem-tem-'"

"'The Fighting Temeraire'," Annie said. "It's by Turner."

Rusty looked at the picture of the two ships.

"I love this painting," Annie said. "Our English teacher showed us it when we were studying Victorian literature."

"Right," Rusty nodded and gave it a moment. "Why?"

Annie laughed. "Well, this tall, stately galleon represents the old Romantic age and this fiery little tug is the new Industrial age, steaming ahead, leaving everything behind in its wake. And this…" Annie pointed at the sky, "these colours, the sunset and the pale gold and the silver…"

They reflected the ships. Rusty got that. He picked up a piece. It could be tug, it could be sunset…it was sunset. There was another piece that was certainly mast. Huh. That couldn't go in yet but that…that was the moon…

He didn't notice Annie gradually sitting back and only faintly registered the fact when she said something about getting dinner on and stood up and left the lounge. This needed sorting…

* * *

Clutching a bag, Saul returned as Annie was laying the table. He planted a kiss on her cheek and pinched a boiled potato.

"Hot," he managed, blowing hard. "Hot. Hot."

"They should be," Annie said with little sympathy. "I've just dished them up."

Saul huffed and puffed, blinking back tears and eventually swallowed, wincing as he did so. Annie sighed and pushed a glass of water into his hand and he gulped it down gratefully.

"Good afternoon?"

"Rusty and I did a jigsaw," she said proudly then gave a little shame-faced shrug. "Actually, Rusty did it."

"The ship?"

"The ship. Ever so quickly. He just…well, he didn't need me."

"Hmm." Saul considered this and surreptitiously tried to sneak another potato.

Annie smacked his hand.

"Dinner's ready, Rusty," she called. "Come and get some before Saul eats the lot."

* * *

Over meat pie, Saul reached into his pocket and produced a newly-cut house key.

"For you," he said, handing it to Rusty.

"Me…?" Rusty took it off him and looked from Saul to Annie, a look of confused gratitude filling his face. "Thanks."

It was so much more than he'd been expecting. It was trust and belief and-

"Oh and this," Saul reached under the table, pulled out the bag and passed it to Rusty.

"Hope it's OK," he said. "I checked and most cool kids are wearing them. Apparently."

Rusty pulled the brown vintage leather jacket out of the bag.

"Is it-"

"It's great," Rusty said hurriedly. "It's…" Too much. Much too much.

"I've got the receipt," Saul said quickly and Rusty fingers gripped the leather tightly.

"So, I can take it back."

"If you want to. Only if you want to, you know."

Yeah. He knew. _"Nothing you don't want to do"._

* * *

A/N: yeah, it's my favourite painting before you ask. Apparently, I'm not alone.


	5. Waiting

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: I do not own Rusty and I do not own Saul. See how that sentence has gotten longer.

A/N: quick update, I know. I have my reasons.

Chapter Five: Waiting

* * *

Saul sat on the edge of the bed and wondered when he'd ever got this old. He remembered being young. Well, being younger. And leaping out of bed definitely seemed to be a young man's game.

"You're not old," Annie said sleepily.

He looked down at her. "How-"

"Every morning, you put your legs carefully over the side of the bed and you sigh. Then you run your hand over your hair as if to check you still have some. Then you sigh again."

"I _feel_ old."

"Youngsters do that to you," Annie agreed and Saul knew that referred not only to Rusty but also to the ten year difference between them that was never going away. She smiled. "Next you'll be telling me you feel the need for a downstairs bathroom. Maybe a rug to tuck over your knees when you're watching sport. Or a-"

Whatever else she was about to suggest was lost as Saul launched himself backwards and pinned her to the bed.

"Haven't lost all my energy," he threatened and she giggled.

"At forty-five, I should hope not." She kissed him. "You'll always be young to me."

"You're a foolish girl." He kissed her back. "I love you, Annie."

"Well, of course you do." She smiled at him, her eyes teasingly full of the same three words, then she pushed him back and sat up. "I'll go and start breakfast." A different kind of smile spread over her face.

"The flowers," Saul guessed. Annie had been full of whispered excitement the previous evening.

"It's a good sign, isn't it?" Annie said as she had done already. "It means he likes it here?"

"I'd say so," Saul gave her the same reply. "He likes you at least though I can't imagine anyone who wouldn't." He leaned forward and kissed her again and she blushed prettily.

"I have to go and start breakfast," she said half-heartedly.

"Yes, you do," Saul agreed. "Just not yet."

* * *

In contrast to the rain of the previous afternoon, the sun came up blazing and bright and after breakfast, Rusty offered to pick some more fruit for Annie. He wanted to spend more time in that orchard.

"Thanks," she said, sounding genuinely pleased. "It's as much as I can do to keep up with it all but if you do, I can make some jam and a couple of pies…hmm…"

Her thoughts seemed to take her off along the possibilities that the fruit could offer and Rusty disappeared with a couple of baskets. There was something immensely calming about the trees and the grass and the sun and the silence. It was the contrast, for sure. But even so, there was something else. Something he didn't understand. Something he needed more of.

He'd nearly filled both baskets when Saul appeared at the bottom of the tree.

"Rusty," he began and Rusty immediately heard the hesitancy in his voice.

He dropped out of the tree to the ground and waited.

Saul's mouth opened and closed a couple of times and then he said, "There's something I'd…I'd really like you to do."

This was it. Rusty braced himself.

"I'd like you to come and get checked out by a doctor I know. Just to make sure you're OK. Would you do that for me?"

_Doctor. _The word fell all the way through Rusty and out the other side.

"Sure." He kept his voice light though his fingers were digging in to his palms.

"Thanks," Saul's face relaxed. "After lunch, OK?"

"Sure."

Saul left, completely oblivious to the fact that behind him, Rusty was leaning up against the apple tree, his face screwed up in pain and fear.

* * *

During the journey to the hospital where Marty Driver worked, Saul was aware that Rusty was gradually withdrawing further and further into himself till by the time they pulled up in the car park, he could have been a ghost.

_Hospitals_, Saul concluded. They could put the frighteners on people of any age, let alone a boy.

"It's OK," he said, trying his best to be reassuring. "Marty's a good guy. He's not scary. And it's Sunday. There won't be many people about."

Rusty gave a nod, his face wearing an inscrutable expression.

They walked through the corridors unchallenged and Saul couldn't help but notice Rusty's eyes were everywhere, taking in windows and doors and exits. He sighed inwardly.

"Marty and I go way back," he said conversationally, hoping to put Rusty at ease. "He's patched me up no end of times and he's not the sort to ask questions."

The last phrase had a few meanings and he hoped Rusty understood some of them. Right now, it looked like he wasn't taking much in at all.

They reached Marty's office and Saul knocked.

"C'mon in," came a hearty voice and Saul obeyed, Rusty at his shoulder.

It was a standard consultant's office: desk, chairs, sink, examining table, screen, charts on the wall. And Saul could still feel the tension oozing out of Rusty.

"Hi, Marty, this is-"

"No names." The words were breathed in Saul's ear.

"-a friend of mine," Saul continued smoothly. "The young man I was telling you about. I wonder if you'd be good enough to look him over."

"Sure thing." Marty gave Rusty a big smile. "Why don't you come over here, son, and we can get better acquainted."

Saul heard Rusty's breathing grow faster and shallower. He turned round.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" he asked and bit back on the shock as Rusty's eyes fixed on his. Saul could tell there were a hundred different hells going on in there.

"Hey…" Concerned, he put a hand on Rusty's arm. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"S'alright." Rusty closed his eyes and seemed to get a grip on himself. He opened them again and there was nothing in there now. It was like a blank slate. "It's alright," he repeated and his voice was steady.

"OK," Saul nodded slowly. "I'll be right outside when you're done."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the door opened and Saul stood up as Rusty exited, Marty close behind him.

_Need to talk,_ Saul read in Marty's face. Well, yes. They did.

"Rusty, do you want to go and find us some drinks?" Saul dug into his pocket for change.

"There's a little canteen and shop down there," Marty indicated.

"Probably got chocolate," Saul added.

Wordless and empty-faced, Rusty took the money and headed off without a word. Saul watched him go and then turned to Marty.

"Well?"

"Yes, he is, surprisingly. Come back inside for a moment. We'll leave the door open."

They stepped just inside the office where Saul could keep an eye on the corridor and Rusty's return and Marty gave Saul an appraising look.

"What's this all about, Saul? Picking young men up off the street?"

"It was…an impulse thing. He's a good kid, Marty. He deserves a break."

"Hmm. Guess you're the person to make sure he gets it." Marty sighed. "OK. Here's the lowdown. He's sixteen, heading for seventeen. On the whole, he's in good physical condition although definitely under-nourished. Guess Annie's taking care of that, right?"

"Right."

"This life you rescued him from…" He shook his head. "Somehow, and don't ask me how, because he lived it for nearly a year, but from what he's told me, he seems to have avoided any STDs. Actual results are going to take a bit longer. And there are no physical marks on him. Asked him about illnesses and he had a bout of flu or something viral about nine months ago and that's it. Seems to have had a hit and miss diet but he tells me he drinks a lot of milk-"

"In one form or another."

"-that's good for his teeth and bones. That's the good news."

He broke off, hesitating and Saul waited.

"He can't tell me how many men he's been with, Saul," Marty went on in a low voice. "He can't even put a best guess. And not that I've met many but the few boys I do know who got involved in this kind of thing came to terms with it. He hasn't. Ever. My thought is it was raw every time. There aren't any physical scars but the mental ones…you should have seen his face when I asked him to strip."

He broke off and his face squalled. "Christ, Saul, this world…"

"Yeah."

"Whoever got him into this…"

"MacAvoy," Saul practically spat the name out. "He's called MacAvoy."

"I'm thinking some pretty uncharitable thoughts about him right now."

"You and me both."

Marty squeezed Saul's arm. "You've got your work cut out."

"He's worth it," Saul said and meant it.

* * *

Rusty didn't consciously notice much about the journey back to Saul's. He sat in the front seat and stared out of the windshield and had responded so distractedly to Saul's attempts at conversation that Saul had given up. Telegraph poles whizzed by as they drove and as they passed each one, Rusty felt the adrenaline dying down, even though, contradictorily, his heart still seemed as if it were going to burst right out of his chest.

This hadn't been what he thought it was going to be. Not even close.

From the moment Saul had asked him to go till the moment the door of the doctor's office had closed behind Saul, Rusty thought he knew exactly what was going on. Mouth dry, he'd stood under the tree and thought about obligations and payback and even though he'd been crying inside that he'd been wrong (and right) all along, he'd made himself eat lunch, duck under Annie's gaze, put on the leather jacket and get in the car.

When he realised he'd let Saul see the ache inside, he'd been furious with himself and he'd locked it down immediately. Ridiculous, he'd told himself, that this should hurt any more, should be any different, than any other time. Just because he liked the old man so much more – a million times more - than MacAvoy. Just because he'd thought…

He'd been ready. The doctor had smiled and been friendly and asked questions and asked permission to look inside his mouth and ears and warily, Rusty had gone along with it all, waiting…waiting…

"If you'd like to go behind the screen and take your clothes off, then hop up on the table, we can continue," the doctor had said and Rusty's face had been a complete mask.

In spite of that fact, the doctor had leaned over as if to touch his arm and then thought better of it and sat back in the chair.

"This is just for the physical exam," he'd said gently and then a look came into his eyes and something had made him add, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Rusty had nodded. Whatever. He'd stripped and laid on the table staring up at the ceiling tiles _(twelve inches square, given the dimensions of the room that probably meant 80 in total, if there were another four rooms along this corridor...),_ waiting…waiting…but the doctor had barely touched him. And when he had, it had felt…appropriate. Then he'd asked him to roll on to his front and Rusty had started reading a chart on the wall detailing all the bones in the arm.

_The ulna, the radius, the humerus...structures you should be able to identify in the humerus are the greater tubercle, the lesser tubercle, deltoid tuberosity, medial epicondyle, lateral epicondyle, capitulum, trochlea, coronoid fossa..._

"Pop your clothes back on," the doctor had said. "We're done."

Disbelievingly, Rusty had obeyed and he'd walked out of the office in a daze that lasted to the canteen and back again and through the corridors and into the car and away.

This really had been about a check up. Relief started to flood through him and he looked across at Saul behind the wheel with an expression that was evidently normal enough to make Saul relax and smile.

But even as he did so, another thought occurred to Rusty. This had really been about a check up. And that made sense too. Because the last thing Saul would want would be someone diseased.

The tension started knotting its way through Rusty again.


	6. New Acquaintance

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: Rusty and Saul ain't mine no way, no how.

Chapter Six: New Acquaintance

* * *

The next day, Annie got out of bed with a purpose. "Thought I'd take a run out to the big supermarket and stock up on a few things. I'll ask Rusty if he'd like to come."

"Why not?" Saul was a fraction slower than he should have been with his response. Luckily for him, Annie didn't notice.

* * *

Over breakfast, Rusty agreed readily to the trip. Whatever else might or might not be happening, he still liked Saul and he still liked Annie and he was still going to go along with things for the moment. As Annie disappeared to grab her purse, Saul caught his elbow.

"She can't drive," he said in a low voice. "She failed her test ten times and I bribed the guy on her eleventh try to let her through. Just…"

And Rusty found he could finish that sentence. It wasn't "Just be careful", it was in fact, "Just don't let her know how bad her driving is". He nodded and co-conspirators that they were, they pulled apart as Annie re-entered the room.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Of course, Annie," Rusty replied and saw the glance Saul threw him that wished him luck.

The journey in the Dodge was…interesting. Rusty quickly formed the opinion that whilst Annie never had any accidents, she saw plenty. He kept his gaze mild and untroubled as they drove perilously close to parked cars and even, at one point, people's elbows. Sitting in the front passenger seat, he had a bird's eye view of the proximity. It was a roller coaster ride like no other.

"Are you OK?" Annie asked and for one gloriously awful moment, Rusty thought she meant as a passenger and he prepared himself to lie.

"I-I thought you might have some questions or something…"

Oh, he had questions. One burning question in particular that was killing him to know the answer to. But somehow, he didn't think he could ask Annie that outright. Annie still looked expectant. OK, questions that he could legitimately ask. Questions that she might be expecting. He thought for a moment. Uh-huh. Here was a good one.

"What does Saul do for a living?"

"He's an investor," Annie said after a moment and Rusty knew at once that she was lying. It sounded like a pat answer that got trotted out in front of friends and acquaintances. He watched the faintest hint of colour reaching her temples and he knew that however often she told this lie, it was still a difficult thing for her to do: Annie was fundamentally an honest person.

She sighed.

"Saul's…not entirely legal." Annie's eyes flicked across to Rusty's face and then back to the road. "He told me about what happened at the gas station."

The wallet…the lift…yeah…not entirely legal about had it.

"He works so close to the edge, sometimes," she went on. "I really worry. And I'm no good to him." She laughed as if at the very thought. "He has some friends, though, Carter and Scott and Reuben and Bobby, and they chat every now and then. Talk about business and contacts…what's going on…what the news is…"

MacAvoy had had friends like that. Allan, the concierge at one hotel and Eduardo, the bartender at another, both of whom knew just the man to call when a guest wanted a little discreet extra.

Business and contacts…a neat way of summing things up.

* * *

The supermarket was busy but that was Monday morning for you.

"Why don't you head down there and find some bits and pieces you need?" Annie indicated the toiletry aisle.

She watched him go, studying the soaps and deodorants and toothbrushes. Annie thought back to the phone call from Saul.

"_I'm doing a rash thing, Annie."_

"_You already proposed and married me," she pointed out._

"_Another rash thing. I'm bringing a boy home."_

_His voice had been so serious, she hadn't been able to make a joke._

"_He's…Annie, he's in the most awful situation and he needs us."_

"_You know what I'm going to say."_

"_I do. I…just wanted to tell you."_

"_I'll get the spare bed made up. And I'll get dinner."_

"_Bless you, Annie."_

And in a strange catalystic way, Rusty seemed to have upended everything since he'd arrived. She had never seen her food eaten with quite so much gusto. She had never seen the look in someone's eyes that said they loved the orchard and the trees as much as she did. She had never seen someone who had been without so much and who asked for so little.

She watched him now, frowning over the toothbrushes. Just a few inches taller than her. Still growing. Not even shaving yet. Still a boy. And already it was obvious he was going to be a heart-stoppingly handsome man.

And even though it had only been a few days, Annie felt as if helping Rusty was fast becoming her aim in life.

* * *

Clutching a few essentials, Rusty wandered back to Annie and was puzzled to see her face lose its usual carefree expression. It took him half a second to realise that she was looking over his shoulder.

He dropped the toiletries into the trolley. "What is it?" he asked softly.

Annie glanced at him, her face still troubled. "Millicent Rowntree," she said shortly.

"Millicent?" _Was that really a name?_

"Poisonous and spiteful and vile," Annie said with unexpected venom and Rusty saw the fury flashing across her face.

"What-" he began but Annie interrupted.

"She's seen us," she said tersely and her face became artificially sunny.

"Annie Bloom, what a lovely surprise!" The voice was well-cultured with a slight drawl and Rusty turned to see a woman, probably about Annie's age but dressed younger and more expensively. She was blonde and bobbed and her features were sharp and her eyes sharper. Rusty got the impression that Millicent didn't miss a trick.

"Millicent," Annie said with a fair imitation of pleasure. "Fancy seeing you again."

"It's been too long."

"Hasn't it, though?"

Rusty felt Millicent's eyes all over him. Annie was making her wait for an answer to the question she was dying to ask. Eventually, Millicent cracked.

"So, who is this handsome lad? Does Saul know you're out and about with such a fine young fellow?"

There was a gleam in her eyes and an implication in her words and on top of all of it, Rusty could swear there was a hint of flirtation aimed in his direction.

"Oh, this is Saul's nephew," Annie said easily. "He's staying with us for a bit."

"How super," Millicent said with a smile and Rusty could see all the perfect, little pearls of teeth.

"We must get on, Millicent," Annie said firmly before any further conversation could be had. "It was so unexpected to run into you. Goodbye."

Her fingers gripped Rusty's arm and she guided him away, leaving Millicent looking thoughtfully after them.

They paid for the trolleyload of goods and packed the car. Rusty could see Annie was still upset. Hiding herself was obviously something she was not used to nor good at.

Partly to distract himself from the driving and partly because he was curious about anything that disturbed Annie who seemed to be one of the most centred people he'd come across, he hesitantly asked, "Who is Millicent exactly?"

"I went to school with her," Annie said. "And she was obnoxious then. She's always…" she broke off trying to find the words. "She always stays just the right side with what she says. You can never find fault with her directly but it's in everything she…"

Annie looked over at Rusty. "Do you know what she did when Saul and I first moved back to the area? She invited us to dinner. A dinner party with three other couples."

"That…" Rusty frowned because he couldn't immediately see the bad side to this though he knew there was one coming.

"She welcomed us, introduced us, made a fuss of Saul and I really thought she was making the effort. I relaxed. I started to enjoy myself. I liked her."

The last three words were spoken as if they cost Annie a lot.

"Then we sat down to dinner and she served up roast pork."

Rusty was still trying to see the downside when he realised.

"Saul's hardly zealous when it comes to his faith but I knew he'd never eaten pork in his life."

Annie swallowed.

_She'd looked down at the plate with absolute horror, realising exactly what Millicent had done – what she was doing - and she'd looked across the table at Saul, absolutely still and staring down at the meat._

_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…she thought the words frantically and she wanted to sweep the plate off the table… to knock wine over it to spoil it…mostly to throw wine or worse over Millicent._

"Then Millicent," and she said it like it was a swear word, "asked if everything was alright."

She swallowed again and this time, Rusty was sure she was swallowing tears.

_Saul smiled the widest smile and he looked up at her with total love. Then, he turned to Millicent, who sat with her eyes wide and mouth slightly open in anticipation._

"_It looks delicious," he said._

"He ate the lot." This time there was a sob. "I've never forgiven her and I never will."

Rusty thought of the sharp eyes and the perfect teeth forming a piranha smile and suddenly shivered: there was definitely a likeness.

* * *

As Rusty and Annie carried the bags into the kitchen, Saul saw the look on Annie's face and his lips set in a straight line. He took the bags from her hands and set them on the floor and pulled her to him.

"Saul…" she began, futilely trying to push him away, dropping her head.

"You saw her, didn't you?" he said quietly as if trying to hang on to his temper.

"Saul…" she said again distractedly and Saul's eyes moved to Rusty.

"She saw her, didn't she?"

There was no doubt whom he meant. Rusty nodded.

"Can you give us a moment?" Saul asked and Rusty went back for the next lot of bags.

As the door was closing behind him, he couldn't help overhear Saul saying, "She's nothing, Annie, she's worth less than the dust on your shoes."

Rusty risked a glance over his shoulder: Saul had his arms wrapped round Annie as if he would never let her go.

* * *

Lunch had been quiet. The shadow of Millicent hung over the meal and Rusty knew there was a whole lot of additional back story going on that he was not party to. He'd only met Millicent once but it had been enough to see the effect she had on Annie. And Annie had been so irrepressibly bright and happy, that even though he'd known her less than a week, Rusty had never even considered that she could be anything else.

"I'm going to go and do a little gardening," Annie said and Saul cut short the offer to help that was on Rusty's lips with a frown.

"She needs a bit of time to herself," Saul said. "Millicent does that to her."

He stood up.

"Come on," he said, "let's go and see what the lounge has to offer."

Sitting in the easy chair with Saul's newspaper, Rusty watched as Saul sat on the couch, shuffled and dealt the cards on to the coffee table: four hands plus himself as dealer. It was a game Rusty knew although he'd never figured it as a solo game. Saul's concentration seemed both intense and non-existent: his face was loose and relaxed but Rusty was watching his eyes, bright and focused.

After a couple of hands, Saul looked over at him. "Do you want to join in?"

Rusty dropped the paper and sat on the floor opposite Saul. "Twenty-one, right?"

Saul nodded. "Or vingt-et-un or pontoon or more usually blackjack. You play it? You know the rules?"

"Yeah."

"OK, then."

Saul shuffled the cards and dealt four hands, this time, one of them to Rusty. Rusty checked his hand. Twelve. "Twist." Sixteen. "Twist." Twenty-six.

"Bust. Dealer has twenty. Pay twenty-one."

Saul won the next couple of hands as well and then Rusty's brain engaged itself. It was obvious that if the higher cards hadn't fallen, they were waiting to appear. It was just a case of tracking what cards had gone and working out the odds on what was remaining and the probability of winning and the risk of taking another card and…

"Are you counting?" Saul asked after they'd played on for a few hands. "The cards, I mean. Are you working out how many high cards are left?"

Rusty frowned. "Is it wrong?"

"It's…unusual."

He shrugged. It had come naturally to him. "It's easy."

And Saul's face broke into the biggest smile.

* * *

That night, Rusty sat in the bath again and felt the warmth and the bubbles cover his body and tried to make sense of it all. On the one hand, Saul and Annie had been kind and welcoming and they'd made such an effort with everything: it was all so much more than he'd expected or felt he had a right to expect.

And that was the problem. Because why did he have the right to expect anything? He was nothing to Saul and Annie. He'd met Saul just a few days ago and on…well…on a _whim_, Saul had taken him away from what he knew and what he hated to…to what, exactly? Rusty really didn't know.

For all that Annie and Saul had done and were doing, he couldn't lose the feeling that the rug was waiting to be pulled out from under him with the equivalent of a plate of roast pork.


	7. Hell

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: they do not belong to me.

A/N: um, some upsetting though non-explicit stuff herein.

Thanks to otherhawk for effortless help with a pov.

Chapter Seven: Hell

* * *

Annie seemed to have regained her equanimity by the following morning and as he watched Saul watching her fuss over the breakfast table, Rusty guessed that that had been due partly to the therapeutic gardening and mostly to Saul.

Saul offered Rusty the plate of toast.

"Thanks."

"Tea. I knew I'd forgotten the tea," Annie muttered to herself and disappeared into the kitchen.

Rusty felt Saul's eyes on him as he buttered the toast. He was going to say something… Something…?

"Annie said that she mentioned a little bit of what I do…" Saul began in a low voice and Rusty heard the hesitancy and he kept his head down over the toast.

"Yeah."

"I was thinking back to the gas station," Saul went on and hesitated again and then asked the next question casually and at the same time as if Rusty's answer was really important to him. "Did you ever do anything similar?"

Yeah. He had. Shoplifting was a given and he'd picked up a few wallets in his time. And then he'd worked a room with Marvin. Loose-limbed, light-fingered, easy-going Marvin who had screwed up royally and who had set two guys on their tail who could run faster than you might think and who could hit every bit as hard as you'd imagine.

Marvin had vaulted the fence outside and Rusty who was that half a beat behind him had felt a hand on his ankle and had been dragged down, caught and beaten. The bruises had taken a couple of weeks to die down and MacAvoy had refused to use him till they'd gone away.

"_You take good care of your body, lad. That's what the customer pays for."_

It had been a warning he'd taken on board. He didn't dare not. And picking up wallets had no longer been an option.

Saul was waiting for an answer.

"Once or twice," Rusty said. "Didn't make a habit of it."

"Mmph," Saul nodded and appeared to be digesting this.

Annie reappeared and this area of conversation immediately died.

"Thought I might take a run over to Atlantic City," Saul said airily. "Want to come with me, Rusty?"

Rusty could hear that casual-but-actually-important tone again. He thought quickly about what he'd heard of Atlantic City. Gambling and tourists and hotels. He gave a mental sigh and chastised himself for thinking that Saul would work his home town. _This_ was where Saul operated.

"Sure," he agreed.

* * *

Atlantic City had a definite buzz to it. Rusty watched Saul's face come alive with the people and the crowds and the noise. He was clearly comfortable here. They walked along the fronts of the casinos and Saul bought them lunch from a small deli that he obviously frequented on a regular basis judging by the first name terms he was on with the staff and the extra large portions of hot salt beef that came their way.

They sat on a bench and people-watched for a while as they ate.

"You OK, kid?" It seemed to be asking more than the obvious.

Rusty considered the question. He had a clean place to stay that felt safe; he was being fed; he was being clothed. As a starting place, those three things were a step up from where he had been just over a week ago, before he'd met Saul in that diner. Then, he'd been staying in a room that was just the right side of safe and nowhere near the right side of clean and that necessitated considerable cost in more ways than one; food had been as always hit and miss enough to keep him working for MacAvoy; his wardrobe had been so sparse, it hardly merited the name.

In addition, he was now with Saul and Annie. And he liked them. Whatever might be waiting round the corner, he liked them. He liked how they were with each other and he liked how they were with him. Part of him was telling him that was such a dangerous thing to let happen. So much easier to despise and hate and thus keep yourself protected and make sure the inner you was never touched. He'd never had this problem with MacAvoy.

"Kid? You OK?"

Well, all in all, he was in a much better situation. Maybe even if what he feared happening happened, it would still be worth the risk of investing emotion. He tried to picture himself coming to terms with…coming to terms. Working and then returning to Annie's apple crumble and bubble bath. Working and then playing cards with Saul. His mouth went dry again. It would be better and also a hundred times worse.

"Rusty?" There was a genuine note of concern in Saul's voice.

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm fine. Fine."

Saul nodded slowly and seemed as if he wanted to say something else but sat back instead and finished his lunch.

* * *

They got in late from Atlantic City and ate the cold table Annie had laid.

"I did your washing and ironing, Rusty, if you want to take it up."

Rusty looked over at the pressed clothes and blinked with surprise. "Thanks, Annie."

She looked over at Saul.

"And I will pour you a drink of whisky and you can come and tell me about your day while I stitch."

* * *

"What are you thinking, Saul?"

"Hmm?"

"I can see the cogs whirring. What are you thinking?" she asked, peering over her cross-stitch chart and then up at Saul. "Is it Rusty? It is, isn't it?"

"Well…"

"Are you thinking of…you are, aren't you!"

"Yesterday, we played cards. He's smart as a whip, you know…and, look at him, Annie. He'd be perfect. Those looks…"

"Oh, I know those who'd kill to have the hair and the lips and the cheekbones and the lashes," Annie agreed.

"He's so…"

"He's stunning already. And he's still a boy."

"He could make a fortune."

"There is the possibility that he might not be interested," Annie said warningly. "Just because it's your bread and butter."

Saul snorted. "You think it's a bad way to make a living?"

"If I thought that I'd have said goodbye to you a long time ago."

There was a silence and then Saul said, "He can be an accountant or a bartender or a cab driver. Whatever he wants. I wouldn't care."

Annie bent over her needlework and smiled.

* * *

Upstairs, Rusty sat on his bed, his fingers bridged together, staring over the top of them at a point on the wall.

He'd been going into wish them goodnight. The door to the lounge was ajar, light spilling out into the hallway and his hand had been about to push it further open. Instead he had heard Annie's voice and something had made him stop and listen and…

"_What are you thinking? Is it Rusty? It is, isn't it?"_

"_Well…"_

"_Are you thinking of…you are, aren't you!"_

Numbness descended and he'd swallowed hard then forced himself to pick up the conversation and listen again.

"_Look at him, Annie. He'd be perfect. Those looks…"_

"_Oh, I know those who'd kill to have the hair and the lips and the cheekbones and the lashes."_

"_He's so…"_

"_He's stunning already. And he's still a boy."_

"_He could make a fortune."_

Rusty had stuffed his hand in his mouth at that, biting down hard on his knuckle.

"_There is the possibility that he might not be interested. Just because it's your bread and butter."_

"_You think it's a bad way to make a living?"_

"_If I thought that I'd have said goodbye to you a long time ago."_

After that, he'd turned and run up the stairs as quietly as he could.

Sitting on his bed, Rusty pressed the tips of his fingers together and closed his eyes. Nothing he had read in Saul and Annie made him think that they were other than they were. But the gifts, and the room, and the food and the words… Rusty's hands became fists and he dug his fingernails into his palm. He needed to know…

_

* * *

_

He's been homeless for a little while now and the streets are as frightening as he thought they would be. He's seen stabbings and beatings and worse and he's avoided all three but he's not certain how long he's going to be able to do so.

_The hunger is bad but he can just about cope with that. It makes him eat things he doesn't want to study too closely and it makes him look for food in places that he wants to think about even less, but he can just about deal with the hunger. __The cold is worse. It wraps itself around him in the very opposite way to a warm blanket and he doesn't think he'll ever feel heat again._

_It's late and it's been three days since he's eaten anything substantial (if half a burger can be called substantial) and it's been a rough day. He's seen a boy he vaguely knows beaten and bleeding and willingly and unwillingly Rusty has gone to see if he can help. The boy has waved him away with a few choice words._

_Now, he's standing under a streetlight watching a café closing up and debating whether or not there is any chance of food being thrown away._

"_Good evening."_

_The voice is cheery and unexpected and it takes a moment for Rusty to realise it's talking to him. He shrinks back and checks for exits but the man doesn't seem to notice._

"_Cold out tonight," the voice goes on and there is an underlying sympathy._

_Rusty nods agreement._

"_I used to be on the streets," the man continues conversationally. "It's not easy."_

_Rusty nods again and wonders where this is going._

"_You look like you could do with a warm place to stay for the night, my lad. Come along with me. I know somewhere that will do. It even has a cheese sandwich waiting."_

_This time, Rusty looks at the man. About his height, slight of build, smiling in what seems a friendly fashion… He could outrun him, he is sure and he even feels confident he could fight him successfully. Run fast and punch hard: two survival tips he's been quick to learn._

"_My place is just around the corner," the man goes on. "My name's MacAvoy and I honestly just want to help you tonight."_

_Rusty stares at the man's face and he hesitates. There is some truth in what he's been told. Even so… _

_The rain starts and it's the deciding factor. _

"_Sure," he shrugs and follows MacAvoy._

_And MacAvoy is true to his word. There is a small flat with a strangely sweet smell and a living room and a kitchen and bathroom and bedroom off; and a sandwich and a glass of milk waiting; and it is warm and dry and even though he waits and waits, even when MacAvoy is in bed and gently snoring, that is all there is and he falls asleep on the couch, ridiculously relieved and grateful._

_

* * *

_

He sees MacAvoy a couple of times after to nod to. On another bad night, MacAvoy happens upon him again and again he goes back with him.

_On the third occasion, he finds out what MacAvoy does._

"_I help gentlemen enjoy themselves," he says and Rusty stares at him. "If you know what I mean."_

_Rusty does._

"_You know," MacAvoy says as if the thought has just occurred to him, "if ever you want to…I mean, nothing you don't want to do…but if ever you do…I mean, you look great…"_

_It feels like he's being generous. It feels like he's trying to help. Rusty nods quickly but dismissively and the subject disappears._

_

* * *

_

It is snowing again. It has snowed on and off for the past five days and it is working itself up into a blizzard. Rusty kicks his feet against the floor of the alleyway and huddles into the wall. He's had nowhere to sleep for a week now and the cold is deep in his bones.

"_Lad!" MacAvoy walks past and halts, a friendly smile on his face. "I haven't seen you in a while. How are you?"_

"_F-f-fine," Rusty manages and MacAvoy winces._

"_You sound like you're freezing. Come on up to my place for a warm."_

_It's the best offer Rusty has had in seven days and he nods his thanks and follows MacAvoy back to the small flat._

_

* * *

_

Rusty sits on the couch and accepts the cup of coffee that MacAvoy hands him, wrapping his fingers around it, letting the heat penetrate.

_MacAvoy makes some small talk and Rusty's teeth have now stopped chattering enough for him to make some intelligible response. After about ten minutes or so, about the time when Rusty's toes have thawed out and are starting to burn, MacAvoy looks at his watch and pulls a face._

"_I am sorry, lad, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I have a gentleman coming round who's expecting some company and I've been let down. I have to find someone and…"_

_He sees the look on Rusty's face._

"_Oh, nothing extreme," he assures him. "He's just a gentleman who likes to see others enjoying themselves. If you know what I mean."_

_Rusty does._

"_I'd better just make a call. Excuse me."_

_Rusty hears him on the phone in the kitchen and he looks out at the snow, at the billowing storm._

* * *

"_No…? No, OK. Thanks, anyway." It's the third phone-call._

_MacAvoy comes back into the room, shaking his head and sighing._

"_Sorry, lad. I've got to go out and hit the streets." He sounds regretful._

"_I can do it," Rusty hears himself say and can't quite believe he's said it._

"_You…? Are you sure, lad? You know what I've always said. Nothing you don't want to do."_

_Rusty closes his eyes and thinks of white flakes and no shelter and Walter who's been found the morning before yesterday, curled up and frozen._

"_I'll do it," he says and opens his eyes._

"_That's fine." MacAvoy's eyes gleam. "I'll just confirm details with my client."_

_He disappears to make another call and later, much later, Rusty realises that this time he hears the numbers being dialled._

_

* * *

_

It is after. MacAvoy has given him a sheaf of gratitude and compliments and a sandwich and let him sleep on the couch and he's curled up under a blanket, trying hard not to think too much about what has happened.

_When he stands up to leave in the morning, MacAvoy presses five bucks into his hand and smiles at him and Rusty feels as if he's left a little bit of his soul wiped off on toilet paper and flushed away._

_Unwillingly but of necessity, he does it again. He hates every second of it._

_

* * *

_

His tooth hurts. Right at the back of his mouth and it hurts. He can't remember chipping it and his tongue can't find a hole but still the nerve throbs and it has done for some days.

_Dentist. Rusty frowns and sighs. That needs money and there's one place money can be found._

"_Sorry, lad," MacAvoy says when he is inside the flat and has explained. "The only client I've got lined up today wants something a…well, a bit of a step further. Oh, nothing too much," he adds quickly. "He just likes someone to help him relax, if you know what I mean."_

_Rusty does. He closes his eyes for a moment and his tooth reminds him why he's there. He opens his eyes again._

"_How much?" he asks in a low voice, not daring to look at MacAvoy's face._

"_How much do you need?"_

_He doesn't know. "Ten bucks?" It will probably cover what he needs._

"_Ten bucks. Sure."_

_

* * *

_

The dentist needs six dollars, it turns out.

"_Sit back in the chair, son," he says. "And open wide."_

_He frowns at his patient. "You're going to need to open your mouth, you know. Can't go through with this if you don't…" he breaks off and then in a gentler voice, he says, "Don't…look, here's a tissue…it's OK. People often get nervous about coming to see me…"_

_There is a silence as he works._

"_Abscess most likely," he diagnoses. "That must hurt, son. You know you should come and see me regularly. I could have picked this up before it got this bad." He sits back and is formal and official as he writes up his notes. "Antibiotics. Course of them for two weeks. If they don't work, you'll need to come back and we'll take it out."_

"_How much?" Rusty asks leadenly._

"_The antibiotics are four dollars. The extraction is a little more, I'm afraid."_

_To Rusty's immense relief, the penicillin works._

_From time to time, he still finds himself forced to visit MacAvoy who seems now to have a dearth of customers who want to watch and an endless supply of clients who need a little help to relax._

_

* * *

_

Rusty hangs up against the side of the corridor and runs his tongue around his parched lips. His head aches and the chills keep rattling through him. He needs a doctor. Whatever this is, it's getting worse, not better and he has to have some help. And that will cost. In many ways. And that is why he is here.

"_Lad, come on in." MacAvoy is welcoming as ever._

"_I need…" Rusty tails off and takes a couple of shallow breaths. "I need…"_

"_You look awful, lad." MacAvoy sounds concerned. "You sure you're up to-"_

"_Yes." Rusty is insistent. He can do this. He needs to focus. He just needs to focus. He can do this._

_

* * *

_

He is sitting on the bed, trying to stay upright, and one half of a muted telephone conversation keeps floating through.

"_He's not sick, exactly…he's running a bit of a fever."_

_Doctor. He's phoned a doctor and Rusty feels the relief running through him especially as he hears, "I think we can reach a better figure than that" and somewhere his bleary brain thanks God that MacAvoy is haggling the fees on his behalf. He wouldn't be up to it._

_It could have been a minute, it could have been an hour later when the doctor arrives._

"_Stand up, lad," MacAvoy says gently and he obeys._

_As he struggles to his feet, the gratitude overwhelms him. He's had many thoughts about MacAvoy but this…this act of kindness…is more than he'd thought possible; the nicest thing anyone has done for him since…well, since forever. And even if MacAvoy is simply keeping one of his stable healthy and thinking about the profit in it, he still didn't have to do it. Rusty feels the thankfulness rise up through him and it bursts out in an uninhibited smile that lights up his flushed face from the inside out and makes his eyes shine impossibly brightly._

"_Fuck," says the doctor and part of Rusty wonders at that._

"_He is hot," the doctor continues and even though the emphasis seems wrong, Rusty nods. He _is_ hot. He is burning up._

"_Let's get you out of those clothes and into bed." _

_Hands strip him, running over his body with a degree of familiarity that doesn't seem comfortable but then he is ushered into cool sheets that seem so delightful and he rests his heavy head on the pillow and closes his eyes with a sigh._

_The hands are running over his chest, examining him, pushing and stroking and…that doesn't feel exactly right… But now he is being turned over on to his front and the hands are running over his shoulders and his back and then further down his body. A pillow has somehow been slipped under his hips. The hands seem to be everywhere. And a weight is pressing down on the top of the back of his legs… It still doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel… _

_Some survival instinct kicks in and even though it is the hardest thing to do, he makes himself lift his head up and open his eyes and start to turn round._

_MacAvoy is suddenly there at the head of the bed and he gently catches Rusty's wrists, pulling them forward over the pillow, and smiles at him, friendly as ever. _

"_Alright, lad. Soon be over."_

_Soon be-?_

_The thought is cut off by the pain, sudden, sharp, cutting through the fog of the fever, cutting through everything and he arches up off the bed, eyes wide. MacAvoy's grip turns vicelike. _

"_It's alright, lad. You're doing fine, just fine."_

"_No" forms voicelessly in his eyes over and over again, eyes full of raw shock and burning hurt and betrayal. MacAvoy just smiles at him._

_And suddenly, blessedly, the immediate pain stops leaving unpleasant warmth and a dull ache in its wake._

"_Sleep, now," MacAvoy says and drags a sheet up and over him._

_As he lies there shaking, he hears MacAvoy say, "That was quick"._

"_It was nearly all over at that smile," comes the answer. "He is going to make you a fortune."_

* * *

"_Alright, lad?" It is later and MacAvoy's voice brings him back from fevered dreams. "Sit up."_

_MacAvoy half-pulls him up into a sitting position and presses a glass of water to his lips. He drinks it greedily, his eyes all the while locked on to MacAvoy, accusing. _

"_Now, then, we needed to get money for the medicine," MacAvoy says opening his hand and juggling the pills till he has them in his fingers. He tries to pull the glass away from Rusty who clings on to it._

"_Enough," he says sharply and pulls it away more forcefully. He pushes the pills into Rusty's mouth and then allows the glass again._

_The pills taste bitter but the water is glorious and Rusty tries to gulp more down even when the glass is empty._

"_You'll make yourself sick, lad. Go back to sleep." He seems to catch sight of the unvoiced entreaty in Rusty's eyes and shrugs as if it costs him nothing. "No more excitement today."_

_

* * *

_

The fever doesn't break until the fourth day at MacAvoy's. Whatever happened that first night seems a faraway dream except for the part of him that knows it was cold reality. Since then, life has been glasses of water and pills and MacAvoy.

_MacAvoy is there now, running a hand over his forehead, checking his temperature._

"_I'm afraid, lad, I'm going to need that bed. I'm losing money all the while you're lying there…you do understand? And it's been four days…"_

_Weakly, he nods. He does understand. MacAvoy has a business to run. He tries to get up out of the sweat-soaked sheets and falls back again._

_MacAvoy looks concerned. "Tell you what. Why don't I rustle up a client and then when you're through, I can rustle up a little breakfast. That way we're both happy."_

_Happy… Rusty swallows._

_MacAvoy leans in to him conspiratorally. "I can't tell you how hard you're going to have to work as you usually do to pay off what you owe me in loss of earnings, lad. What say I call someone who wants something a little more and we call it quits?" He smiles at Rusty and Rusty can see the mix of triumph and control and certainty. "What do you think? Or are you going to get up and out now?"_

_There is a harder edge to the second question that leaves no doubt as to Rusty's choices. In spite of everything, he desperately tries again to stand up and leave and once again, falls back. _

"_Sure…" It is just a word. It is just a word. And it shouldn't feel as bad in his mouth as it does._

_

* * *

_

The man has left. MacAvoy has helped him struggle up and to the bathroom and left him to clean himself and then has appeared brightly with a cheese sandwich and a glass of milk.

_As he eats, MacAvoy holds out a fistful of green and peels some notes off. _

"_Yours. And more where that came from. You did very well, my lad. Very well."_

_And as he beams down at him, it is hard for Rusty to work out whether he hates MacAvoy or himself more._

_

* * *

_

He tries so hard to keep away from MacAvoy because he knows that now there will be no one who wants to watch and no one who wants a little help to relax. Now there will only be those who want something a little more.

_He holds out for the longest time and then, with the hunger gnawing at him like a rodent from the inside, with the knowledge that the gangs are taking no prisoners in the current turf war and that he needs a safe place off the streets and that a safe room means money and that money means knocking on the door with the peeling paint and smelling the cloying sweetness in the air of the flat and looking at the man with the repulsively cheerful smile and waiting on the couch staring at the lampshade on top of the empty bookcase with the green tassels till the client arrives and money has changed hands and MacAvoy has departed and then heading in to the bedroom with the artexed ceiling and the bed with the rose pattern and then…his heart screws itself up at the prospect. Twice already and already he feels like trying to reach inside himself and trying to scrape his soul clean…_

_His feet drag him up the stairs and along the corridor and to the door. Ignoring with difficulty the screaming inner voice, he knocks and MacAvoy answers, his face lighting up when he sees Rusty._

"_Lad…come on in. What a coincidence. You're just in time."_

_And thereafter, he comes running whenever MacAvoy calls. Because the one time he doesn't may mean the next time he needs to, MacAvoy won't be so obliging. It's a two-way street. But it's strictly a one-way hell._

* * *

Rusty sat on the bed and shook his head. Tomorrow, he had to have an answer. One way or another.


	8. The Other Shoe

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: I do not own Rusty and Saul.

Chapter Eight: The Other Shoe

* * *

Rusty opened bleary eyes. He didn't know what time he'd dropped off. He was certain that at one point, Saul had stuck his head round the door to wish him goodnight and he'd feigned sleep. Most of the time, he'd stared up at the ceiling and wondered and guessed and second-guessed.

Saul was sitting at the breakfast table, munching toast and reading a paper.

"Morning. Annie's had to go and visit her sister. Apparently, she's had a turn that could be fatal. We live in hope. Anyway, she'll be back later. Early evening."

Of course, she would. Of course. Later. Later, when Saul had had a chance to…Rusty swallowed.

"Anything you want to do today?" Saul asked and the casual but not so casual note was there again. "'Cos if not, I thought we might have a couple of hands of poker."

Poker. Rusty blinked. No, it had to stop now. There was no way he could carry on without knowing.

"They say poker's not a game of skill. They say it's about the bluff. I say that's where the skill lies."

Saul was smiling at him again and Rusty ran his hands over his face.

"Are you feeling OK?"

"I…" He felt like his head would explode. "I'm going to be upstairs."

He left the table, climbed the stairs, opened the door to Saul and Annie's room, took his clothes off, sat on the bed and waited.

* * *

It was one of the longest quarter of an hours of his life. Once, he nearly lost his nerve but he made himself stay. He couldn't go on without an answer and if it meant forcing that answer, if it meant being very right or very wrong either way, he still had to know.

He thought about the best and worst case scenarios but mostly about the worst because that way you could only be pleasantly surprised or unpleasantly correct. So this was possibly (probably) a cut to the chase that was going to do away with days (weeks?) of food and clothes and trips and cards. And that had to be a good thing from Saul's point of view, right? Less time wasted. More money to be earned.

The phone rang in the hall and Saul answered though Rusty couldn't make out the conversation. Then, finally, he heard Saul's feet on the stairs.

"Rusty? Are you OK? Did you go to the bathroom?"

He heard the bathroom door open and shut and his own bedroom door do similar.

"That was Marty on the phone."

He heard the footsteps come closer and closer to him.

"You in our room? He says you've got the all-clear…"

And suddenly Saul was there in the doorway, his usual easy-going expression fading away along with the final word.

"If you want me, just tell me. If you want me to work for you, just tell me," Rusty said in a low voice. He screwed his eyes up then dropped his gaze and studied the pattern in the carpet. "I-I can't bear the not knowing."

There was a silence that seemed to last a lifetime and then Rusty made himself look up at Saul. He had to see his face. Saul's mouth was hanging open, his eyes unblinking and then he did a sharp little intake of breath and moved into the room.

Everything in Rusty tensed but Saul slowly, carefully, bent down and picked up his clothes and knelt down on the floor in front of him and pushed them into his hands, holding on to Rusty's hands as he did so.

"Rusty…" Saul swallowed hard and seemed to have difficulty getting the words out. "Rusty, I will never, ever want you in that way. Ever. Do you hear me?"

Rusty opened his mouth and closed it again. Saul's eyes were almost too painful to read.

"Do you hear me?" Saul repeated and Rusty nodded.

"And…" and here Saul seemed to be battling with an anger within himself that Rusty couldn't fathom, "and I never, ever want you working," he shuddered over the word, "like that again. Ever."

He stared deep into Rusty's eyes as if trying to imprint this message directly on Rusty's brain.

"Do you hear me?" Saul said quietly.

"Yes…"

Saul got to his feet. "Get dressed," he said brusquely as if biting back on emotion. "Then come and find me outside."

* * *

He'd pulled his clothes on, his mind running feverishly over Saul's words. Saul had been all shades horrified, Rusty was sure. All shades horrified and there had been anger…at him?

In a rush, the reverse outcome hit him like a cold shower. If Saul had been on the level…if everything that Rusty had been given and experienced had had no other motive, no other agenda than… He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what Saul would be thinking, would be feeling…oh, then, there had to be anger in there. Saul must be furious with him. This would be his last day here, that was for sure. No more warm bed and safe room, no more orchard, no more home-cooking…no more Saul and no more Annie…

Rusty choked back on that. He pushed the emotion down deep inside him and drew a deep breath. If that was the case, he would have to deal with it. He'd wanted an answer. He'd gotten an answer. Now, he had to handle the consequences.

* * *

Saul was sitting at the table outside under the tree with two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. Hesitantly, Rusty sat down and joined him.

"Annie's recipe," Saul said, pouring them both a glass. "Sharp and sweet all at the same time. Don't ask me how she does it. Spoils me for any other kind of food and drink. Think she knows I'll always come running back to her. As if I needed any other reason."

Rusty sipped the drink. It was indeed as Saul described. Not that by now Rusty would expect to be disappointed in anything Annie had had a hand in making.

"When I saw you in that diner," Saul began abruptly. "You have to know that what I saw was opportunity. Not," he went on hurriedly, "an opportunity to exploit or to seize the chance to…"

He tailed off and stared at Rusty. "I saw potential and opportunity in _you_, Robert."

The use of his proper name seemed to underline how serious Saul was. How much he wanted Rusty to understand and to believe.

"All I wanted to do- all I want to do is to help you, Rusty. It makes me sick to think how you've been used."

Saul took a sip of lemonade and focused on the glass for a moment.

"You're so smart. You're so sharp. The other day with the cards…and Annie told me about the jigsaw…you've got such a fine brain in there, Rusty, I can tell. And then…the way you look…" he waved a hand at Rusty generally. "You've got the whole package, kid. And to think what…"

He took a long draught of lemonade and Rusty waited for him to continue.

"Why?" The word was full of pain and Saul looked on the verge of tears.

Rusty couldn't look at him. He stared at the pitcher instead.

"Why would you think that…?" The words were anguished and Rusty felt them like little darts of accusation prickling his flesh.

"I thought…I wanted to believe…" he managed, still not looking at Saul. "I wanted so much to…" He closed his eyes. "It's easier not to. It's so much easier not to. Because then…that way…"

"-you can't get hurt," Saul finished softly.

Rusty opened his eyes and the wounded look in Saul's eyes had died away to be replaced by one of sadness and understanding. Saul was silent for a moment. Then, he sat back in his chair.

"So, you've been spending the past week imagining that I want some sort of repayment for bringing you here, that I'm expecting some sort of service to be provided in exchange for board and lodging and clothes-" he broke off and looked at Rusty keenly. "When we went to see Marty-"

Rusty wasn't quick enough to hide the truth from someone as keen-eyed as Saul.

"You thought…you actually thought…" Saul looked dumbfounded then said with slow incredulity, "But you went along with it anyway…"

He stared at Rusty.

"Did that sort of thing used to happen?" he demanded.

"Sometimes," Rusty whispered.

Saul made an inarticulate noise and pressed his hand to his mouth.

"Not often," Rusty qualified quickly. "It's not like it was everyday or anything. Just that…sometimes they wanted me to go to them…more discreet, I guess. Well, we're talking hotel rooms, I don't mean they wanted to have me in their own home-"

He looked at Saul's face, screwed up with what looked like distaste and horror. Rusty sighed.

"It's OK, Saul. Really, it is. I know it's…" he stared at his hands, knotted together in front of him round the glass, "I know what it is. What I am." His voice was low. "I didn't mean to…I know you're angry with me for thinking…I'm sorry." He stood up. "I'll go and change and I'll leave-"

"Sit back down!"

Surprised at the vehemence in the command, Rusty did so. Saul leaned across the table, eyes bright.

"Listen to me, Robert Charles Ryan, I do know what it is. And as for MacAvoy" Rusty flinched at the name, "and what he's done to you..." Saul broke off as if not trusting himself to speak. Then he swallowed and went on, "And I am as mad as hell at myself for not realising what you've been bottling up. I knew there was something. I just didn't know what. As for what you are…what you could be…"

He paused for a moment.

"What did Annie actually tell you about what I did?"

Rusty blinked at the apparent non-sequitur.

"That you were an investor," he replied and Saul snorted.

"Well, that's one story. What else?"

"She said you weren't entirely legal. That you had contacts that you did business with."

"Ah…" Saul nodded to himself. "I can see how you might have…" he grimaced. "I'm a grifter, Rusty. A confidence trickster. A conman."

_Conman…_

"I learnt my trade early and now…now, I'm pretty much established. And, if I do say so myself, sought after. That's what I do. I part people from their money, which may sound harsh though the saying goes that you can't cheat an honest man and that lets me sleep at night."

The trip to Atlantic City…he'd been right in one way. That was where Saul operated. Just not how he'd thought. That's why he'd asked whether Rusty had stolen before… And the cards…Saul had been so pleased with him because…

"So," Saul nodded. "But that's _my_ line of work, Rusty. I don't expect it to be yours. Annie and I were talking last night and…well, I got a little enthusiastic about you because I think you could clean up. You could make a fortune at the confidence game. You've got the intelligence and I just bet you've got the instincts and the reflexes. You've certainly got the looks. But as Annie pointed out to me last night, this is what _I _do. It's my choice in life. Whatever you want to do, Rusty, you do. Annie and I want you to have the choice. Do you hear me?"

Several things were flying through Rusty's mind at once. The conversation he'd half-heard and wholly misinterpreted. The fact that Saul still wanted him around. The belief that Saul had in him. Most of all, that Annie and Saul wanted him to succeed at something he chose in life. It was overwhelming.

Saul reached across and held out a hand just as he had done at the diner when he'd first met Rusty.

"Do you hear me?" he repeated softly.

"Yes," Rusty said finally, reaching across and taking hold of Saul's hand and feeling as though a thousand ton weight had disappeared from his shoulders.

* * *

The relief lasted for the rest of the morning and beyond.

Saul and he played poker, Saul teaching him variations on the standard five card draw that he knew, complimenting Rusty on how he handled the cards and the leanness with which he dealt.

"First rule of cards, leave emotion at the door," Saul advised as they moved into betting. "Never let the other players know what you're thinking. Never give anything away. Keep your eyes empty. Keep your face blank."

Well, that hadn't been difficult.

"Know when to fold and when to carry on," Saul said, giving the next lesson. "There's no point in pursuing a hand that isn't there."

They'd carried on a bit longer and then Saul had dealt him four aces. And Rusty _knew_ it hadn't been the fall of the cards.

"How did you do that?" he asked wonderingly and Saul grinned.

* * *

When she got home late afternoon, Annie found them still playing cards. Rusty had mastered the riffle shuffle and was on his sixth lesson of how to stack the deck successfully.

Annie caught Saul's eye and shook her head good-naturedly at him when she saw the happy gleam in his eye.

* * *

"How's Beryl?" Saul asked over the supper of fish.

"She'll survive," Annie said shortly. It had been a long day at her sister's.

"Annie's sister has the misfortune to be struck down with a number of non-fatal ailments," Saul confided in Rusty.

"Non-fatal?"

"Yes," Saul nodded solemnly. "That's the misfortune."

"Oh, Saul!" Annie scolded. She turned to Rusty. "Beryl's just a little susceptible to things."

"She lies around her home dreaming up what she's going to come down with next for the sole purpose of summoning you there for the day so that you can run round and wait on her hand and foot and you know it," Saul said.

Annie shrugged helplessly. "She's my sister."

"I know." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "I still think you should tell her to get better or die."

* * *

"What is it?" Annie murmured sleepily into Saul's shoulder as they lay in bed that night. "You still mad at me for running after Beryl?"

Saul was silent. Then he reached out and wrapped his arms tightly round Annie.

"Saul?" Annie was wide awake. "What is it?"

"I've been very stupid, Annie."

"Not you," she scoffed with a smile. "You're-"

"Yes, me," he corrected her harshly. "I thought I'd explained myself clearly. And all I've been doing is confuse and mislead and…"

"Rusty…?"

Saul said nothing for a moment and then in a whisper, he said, "He offered himself to me today, Annie."

"What?" Annie sat bolt upright.

In the half-light, Saul glanced at the disbelieving horror in her face. He pulled her back down to him.

"All this time we've been trying to make things right for him, he's been agonising over what we expect in return."

"But we don't expect anything…"

"I know that. You know that. And I thought he did but he didn't."

"But then…oh!" Annie gave a choking, little sob.

"He's not known anyone do anything for him without wanting something back from him. He's been made to think that way. When I saw him sitting on this bed…offering, even though he hates the very thought of it…offering, because that's all he feels he _has_ to offer…"

Saul closed his eyes and a tear rolled down his cheek.

"He said he couldn't bear the not knowing. It's been killing him, Annie."

"Saul…oh, Saul…" Annie dissolved into silent tears and Saul pulled her close to him and held her tightly.

"What did you…what did he…?" she managed after a while.

"He thought I was outraged by what he'd done, what he'd thought. Angry enough that I'd want him to leave."

He gave a sad, little smile and then said with a sudden fury, "If I ever saw the man again who got into his head and screwed it up so badly, I'd…"

He buried his face in Annie's hair. "It's going to be a long journey, Annie."

She wrapped her arms around his chest. "We'll get there."

Saul smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead.

* * *

Lying in his bed, Rusty stared restlessly at the ceiling for the second night running but for very different reasons. Conman that he was, Saul had been telling the raw truth, Rusty was sure and the giddy relief he'd felt, told him how much he'd been dreading the other answer.

Saul and Annie wanted him with them. Wanted him in their lives. Wanted to help him achieve whatever he wanted to. And for the first time since forever, Rusty found himself thinking about what that was.

* * *

That night, ironically at the time when he felt at his most secure since he'd arrived at Saul and Annie's, the nightmares came. More accurately, _the_ nightmare.

It started off as no one he knew and everyone he remembered.

Hands and mouths felt their way all over his arms and legs and body and his voice was frozen inside him. Even so, he bit his lip to stop from crying out and dug his fingers into his palms and tried to take himself away. And then everything changed. _Everything_ changed. The randomness stopped. Suddenly, there was someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Exactly what to do to hurt him. And just like the first time, Rusty had to live it.

He woke up sweating, his mouth full of blood where his teeth had actually bitten the inside of his mouth. Rusty felt the warmth of the bed and smelt the freshness of the air and gradually, his heart rate slowed. He was on his own. He was in his own bed. He was at Saul and Annie's. He was safe.

* * *

The nightmare came back with a vengeance.

On the third night, he found Saul at his side, shaking him awake.

"Rusty…Rusty…"

He'd lain there, the sweat running from his body, the cold but welcome relief flooding through him. Then, he'd looked up at Saul and couldn't hide the fear and the pain and the horror and Saul had held him until the shaking had stopped.

* * *

Night time was exhausting. Rusty did not want to go to bed. Did not want to close his eyes. Did not want to face the darkness.

Even though he didn't stay in the dream long enough to wake Saul every night, every night, the dream was there waiting to ambush him. And when he woke, even though he woke to safety, he couldn't go back to sleep for the longest time.

A week later, Saul had had to leave on business.

"I'll be fine," Rusty had said quickly before Saul could say a word.

It had been a beautiful, late September day.

"Indian summer," Annie had smiled.

They'd spent the day in the orchard, harvesting the last of the fruit and tidying up the garden and trees.

"I'll have a go at the fence if you like, Annie," Rusty suggested.

She looked at him, his face pale and drawn.

"Are you sure…?"

"Yes," he said firmly. Maybe if he wore himself out physically, his sleep would be dreamless.

"Well…" Annie still looked doubtful. "Do you think you should change?"

* * *

Later, dressed in his faded jeans and top, he ran the sandpaper over the wooden fence determinedly, scraping and rubbing away as if his life depended on it.

* * *

Annie brought him milk and a cheese sandwich for lunch and he sat under a tree and looked down at the plate and the glass and at the clothes and at himself…

* * *

She'd been fetching her own lunch up to the tree to share with him when she saw his fingers drop the food and drink and she saw him bury his face in his hands and she dropped her own plate and glass and started running.

Her arms were round him in an instant and she pulled him to her and held him tight and said "Rusty, dear," and cried along with him, as through tears and snot, she heard an incomprehensible tale of snow and Walter and shame and toothache and self-loathing and hunger and humiliation and betrayal and innocence snatched and a sick and frightened boy who felt like he'd never be clean again.

He got control of himself eventually and sat back, wiping his nose and eyes on his hands and fingers and sleeves. He looked up at Annie still crying.

"It's OK, Annie," he said, getting his breath in little, shuddery gasps as someone who has been crying long and hard does. "I'm OK. You…?"

She buried her face in her apron and wiped her eyes and her voice was unsteady but clear.

"Rusty…you're safe now. You're with us. And there's so much more to life than you've seen…you're so very much more than that..."

Her voice tailed off into a couple more tears.

"Why? Why would you think that?" Rusty demanded fiercely.

Annie sighed and smiled.

"Rusty," she reached out and put her hand to his face and said simply, "You have to believe in yourself. We do."

He swallowed and wiped his hand across his nose again.

"Don't tell Saul," he said, meaning both the tears and the story and she nodded.

* * *

Rusty lay in bed and closed his eyes. Belief. That's what had driven him all those months. The promise to himself and the strength and the determination that there was a way out. Belief. Now he'd found that way out, he could make it reality.

The nightmares kept away.


	9. Saul and Annie

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: I own nothing of an Ocean's nature.

A/N: The line from "The Hustler" I obviously didn't write. And I will freely admit to having been heavily inspired by David Mamet's wonderful "House of Games" for the scene in the Western Union office. It is a terrific film. In fact, go watch both of them!

Oh and I tried so hard to insert lines to break up the italics but it kept knocking my text out. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Chapter Nine: Saul and Annie

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* * *

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Detroit City, November 1979

It was two months later and Saul was looking at Rusty glide effortlessly past two boors who had been sounding off at the world in general and at the airport staff in particular. Rusty's hands moved fast enough for no one to see except Saul who was watching and he made it smoothly back to their table where they were sitting, waiting for their plane to be called.

"Very nice," Saul approved. "You have a great touch."

Rusty took a sip of the chocolate milkshake and felt warmth inside at the praise.

The trip to Motown had been Saul's idea. A little two day visit to work a different stretch to Atlantic City. Privately, Rusty had thought it was Saul's way of making sure that he didn't mess up on Saul's main hunting ground. But the man called Carter, big and burly with a Burt Reynolds' moustache, had welcomed Saul like a long lost friend and clapped Rusty on the shoulder and Rusty had then decided that Saul perhaps just wanted to make Rusty's pool of contacts wider.

They'd worked a couple of quick cons and he had been pleased that he hadn't disappointed Saul. Saul kept saying that he didn't expect Rusty to follow in his footsteps but it was more than half-hearted and besides which, Rusty was enjoying himself. This was so much more fun than he could have imagined.

Now they were waiting to fly back and Saul excused himself as he went off to phone Annie. When he returned, his mood had changed.

"Beryl?" Rusty asked seeing the tight-lipped expression on Saul's face.

"No." Saul hesitated and sighed. "Beryl is annoying and demanding and I pity her late husband, and the way she makes Annie jump through so many damn hoops makes me seriously wish my wife was an only child."

Not Beryl. Then it could surely only be-

"Millicent."

"Yeah." Saul glanced at his watch. "She's been visiting."

The three words seemed to hold so much that Rusty did and didn't understand. Because he had met Millicent and he hadn't cared for her much but more than that, he had seen the effect she'd had had on Annie. And that really had been unexpected and unexpectedly painful to see. Annie was so even-tempered, it was tempting to take it for granted that she was ever thus. Millicent had shown that she wasn't.

Saul was glancing at his watch again but it was still an hour before take-off. Still the flight. Still the drive back. Wishing the minutes away didn't actually make them go.

Rusty sipped the milkshake and hesitated.

"Saul, what is it with Millicent? I mean Annie told me about that dinner party and when I met Millicent, I thought she was…" _Vicious? _

Saul looked down at his coffee cup and didn't answer for a long moment. Rusty suddenly worried that he'd asked an unforgivable question. Then Saul started talking.

"The night I met Annie, I bumped into a guy I vaguely knew and he invited me along to this party. And I went. And it was possibly one of the dullest nights of my life. Right up until these three girls walked in. Two of them were blonde and obvious but the third…"

__

He was standing by the punch feeling out of place in his suit and tie and old, so old compared to the kids in the room. He saw her from the back at first. Medium height, long brown hair brushed back, dressed in a sweater and a skirt and with what he considered to be a nice figure.

"Party's started," Maurice said, digging an elbow in his ribs and he winced for more than one reason.

Then the dark-haired girl turned round and he found himself staring at her as if he would never stop. She had deep brown eyes and a heart-shaped face and her smile…

"I love her smile. I love her eyes. Nothing's changed."

__

She was staring right back at him and the smile showed no sign of fading. And it wasn't flirtatious in the slightest. It was a genuine, honest to goodness friendly smile. Her eyes were open and honest and he could see at once that she had absolutely no idea how attractive she was.

After a while, she looked away, tucked her hair behind her ear and flushed slightly but that didn't stop him looking. Because here was everything he hadn't known he'd been looking for.

"Maurice tried to spin her a line but she wasn't biting so he moved on to her friends. And she…"

__

The girl with the wonderful smile and the amazing eyes made her way over to the punch.

"Would you like some?" he offered.

"Yes, please." And her voice lived up to the rest of her.

He watched himself pour her a cup with a hand that should by rights be shaking because he was inside.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure."

There was a silence while they just looked at each other and then he spoke.

"My name's Saul Bloom."

"I'm Annie Matthews."

"Annie…" he repeated and she smiled and he smiled back.

"How do you like the party?"

"It was hateful."

She heard the emphasis and flushed again. She was studying his face as intently as he was looking at hers.

There was definitely something tangible between them and he felt that if he reached out and touched her, there would be a visible spark. It felt to him as if the world outside the two of them had ceased to exist. The part of his eye that wasn't focused on Annie tried to take in the rest of the room. It was a sea of blur and grey. And Annie was shining like the brightest light, shining so that he couldn't take his eyes off her. And he knew then and there that he never wanted to let her walk away from him.

He opened his mouth to ask her out but she spoke first.

"Would you like to get out of here? Grab a coffee?"

"I'd love to."

"We found a café and we talked and talked forever. Not sure I could ever tell you what I said. I was too busy looking at Annie. And I asked to see her again."

__

Nervous as anything, he'd arrived at her house, clutching the flowers and the chocolates as if they were some sort of lucky charm.

Annie's parents had been welcoming but guarded and he'd met her older sister, Beryl, who'd looked him over with interest and then dismissed him with her eyes. Not rich enough, not good-looking enough, he read and his fingers tightened on the flowers and chocolates.

Then the door had opened and Annie had walked in and just like before, the rest of the world washed away and there was just Annie and her eyes and her smile and he felt his own face light up at the sight of her.

"Took her to a little place just out of town. Italian food. Couldn't tell you what either of us ate. Not sure we did eat. Suppose we must have."

__

They talked and talked and he suddenly realised how late it was.

"I need to get you home."

"OK."

He parked outside her house and walked her to the door, his heart beating so hard, he was certain everyone in the street could hear it. On the porch, he thanked her formally for a lovely evening and she demurely returned the thanks.

Then he leaned forward and he heard her breath catch in her throat and her hands found his and their lips met and he thought that until that moment, he'd never properly felt alive.

When they pulled apart finally, he said, "Can I see you again?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

And he thought that there were rules about this sort of thing and he was glad neither of them wanted to play the games people play. As she disappeared inside and he walked down the path to his car, he felt an ache he'd never imagined he would ever feel. Because all he could think of was being with Annie again.

"Our second date, I took her to the cinema in the city that was rerunning "The Hustler"."

__

He'd held her hand like a teenager and he was glad of the excuse of the darkness because all he wanted to do – all he kept doing - was glancing sideways at Annie. Seeing her react to the film, seeing her eyes so alive and her face, so bright, even in the picture house.

Then he heard the words on the screen.

"This boy is the greatest pool hustler you ever saw, a real high-class conman. He can charm anybody into anything."

And he felt the bubble of happiness start to burst.

By the time they were outside on the sidewalk and he'd bought her a hotdog, the euphoria had all but vanished.

"What is it, Saul?" she'd asked and her eyes were curious but nothing more. Not yet. And he choked inside at how they were going to change.

He led her to a little bench and sat her down.

"Annie, before we go any further, I have to tell you something."

She looked at him with the hint of a frown.

"You're married?" she guessed and when he shook his head, "You're not ill?"

"No. I'm a…" He wanted to say "conman" but it felt too light a word. "I'm a criminal."

There was silence and she continued to look at him with a thoughtful expression.

Say something, he willed her.

Eventually, she said in a low voice, "Do you- do you hurt people?"

"Good Lord, no!" Shocked.

"What do you do?"

"I thought the best way was to show her. We were sitting near a Western Union office, so…"

__

He pushed the door open and sat her down on a row of empty seats and asked her just to stay still and quiet. He walked up to the counter and the man on the other side smiled at him.

"Hey, there. I wondered if my money had come through? It's very important that my money has come through. Could you check for me, please? Could you check to see if my money's been wired? The name is Ezra Taylor. Please could you check?"

There was a pause while the man looked through his records.

"I'm sorry, Mr Taylor. Nothing's come through as of yet."

"Are you sure? It's very important I get that money. We've had some cash stolen and my wife and I need to find a room tonight. Please could you check again."

The man did so.

"I'm sorry, Mr Taylor. Why don't you have a seat? I'll call you as soon as your money arrives."

Shoulders slumped, he turned round and looked over at the man sitting on the row of chairs opposite Annie. The man nodded at him and he nodded back. That was introduction enough and he wandered over.

"Hell of a thing," he said, sitting down beside the man. "Hell of a thing."

"Pickpocket, huh? Kids of today."

"Yeah. Hell of a thing." He stuck his hand out. "Ezra Taylor."

"Martin Morley."

Firm, solid handshake. Wedding ring. Short-sleeved shirt and tie. Tattoo peeking out of his sleeve. Wearing dogtags. Rucksack beside him bearing a faded Dolphins logo.

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Martin. Hell of a thing to happen on your anniversary, don't you think? I should have listened to the wife. She wanted sunshine. Let's go to Florida, she said but no, I pressed for Atlantic City and look what happens."

"Hell of a thing," Martin agreed. "Some punk kid, huh?"

"Some punk kid," he agreed. "You put your life on the line for them and how do they repay you? Grab and run. And I would have gone after him but…well…" he broke off, embarrassed and rubbed at his knee.

Martin's eyes saw him do so and formed their own conclusion.

"Tour of 'Nam?"

"Yeah." Self-conscious.

"Me too!"

"No kidding!"

They exchanged reminiscences, berated the state of modern youth and got on famously. Martin was waiting on a sum from his mother.

"I only need ten dollars for the rent but she's sending me fifty. If she remembers…" Martin tailed off wistfully.

"Tell you what, Martin, my brother's sending me over a hundred dollars. We only need twenty for the hotel tonight. If my money comes through first, I'll loan you the ten. No, I insist," he said firmly as Martin started to protest. "We can meet back here tomorrow and by then your money'll be through and you can pay me back. That way you don't have to hang around here all night."

"Well, thank you!" Martin's face was bright with the trust that Saul was placing in him. "I would pay you back you know."

"I know you would."

"And I'd do the same for you."

With perfect timing, the clerk announced, "Morley! Money for Morley!"

Martin went up to the counter and Saul went over to Annie and pulled her gently to her feet.

"Here you go, Ezra!" Martin peeled off a handful of bills and waved them earnestly.

"Thanks, Martin," he said. "But not tonight."

They walked out in silence and found the bench again.

"So."

"So."

" Horrified? Outraged? Disgusted?"

She'd considered for a moment.

"A little surprised, I think. He was going to give you money. And he didn't even know you."

"Yes." He looked at her closely. "It's what I do. And I'm good at it. But if you want me to, I'll change. I'll give it up in an instant."

She nodded gravely. "I know."

There was a pause and he waited. As if his life depended on it.

"Is it dangerous?"

"Sometimes."

"Are you careful?"

"Always."

"The people you take money from…"

"The marks."

"The marks…" she repeated, a new word making its way into her vocabulary. "How do you decide?"

"I try to work with a good conscience, Annie. I like to have a good night's sleep. And that means any long con I get involved with targets someone greedy or someone who deserves it or both. And any short cons, well, I always leave them with something. Unless the guy deserves it."

Still he waited. And then she nodded and his heart was in his mouth.

"I won't ask you to change but I will always ask you to be careful and I will always want you to be honest with me. Never con me, Saul."

"I never will," he promised.

"Asked her to marry me the next day. No time like the present."

__

She'd walked down the aisle, unrecognisable. Fiercely glowing like she'd descended from the sun. Radiant. Wonderful. Aweful. And he doubted his own right to be in the presence of this amazing creature.

"It was the happiest day of my life."

__

He'd taken her to New York for their honeymoon and she'd walked wide-eyed with him through the streets to their hotel.

"Can we go straight out?" she'd asked as soon as they'd checked in to their room and he'd smiled at her eagerness to explore.

Much, much later, when the sights had been seen and dinner had been eaten, there was no awkwardness and more eagerness and love like it would never end.

"She's my life. She always will be."

__

They'd moved in to Saul's flat in the outskirts of Atlantic City and life was bliss. Life was ambrosia and nectar. Life was undeniably all that either of them wanted.

"Time passed. Beryl got married and moved out. Annie's parents died within months of each other and we moved in."

__

It was an old house with history and he could see how much Annie loved it. He made the silent promise then and there that he would do all in his power to make sure she lived there as long as she wanted to.

The invitation to the dinner party came through the door a week after they'd moved in and Annie had frowned and bitten her lip and hesitated and looked at him and something inside him had chilled. And then she'd smiled and said, "I guess we ought to accept".

"The dinner party was the first time I met Millicent. I could see Annie was on edge about going to the damn thing but you know what? I thought it was about me. About introducing me to her old friends. Stupid, I know. But I was hardly a catch. And I'm ten years older than she is. And I'm never going to be the best looking or the smartest or the richest guy in the room. Then we rolled up and I looked at her face and I said to her that we didn't have to go in, that her friends need never meet me."

__

She'd looked at him in confusion and he realised that he'd got things the wrong way round.

The hostess introduced herself as Millicent, one of Annie's oldest friends, and she was all over him, wanting to know details and he could see her lapping everything up, her eyes sharp and her ears sharper. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Annie standing a little way away, seeing the surface and smiling as if her worst fears were not being realised.

He knew he had to be on his guard and he played the part, batting back the questions with compliments on Millicent's home and the party, and waiting, just waiting, because he was sure that Millicent had more up her sleeve.

When dinner was served, he could see without looking how horrified Annie was.

"Is everything alright?" Millicent asked and he could imagine the absolute delight on Millicent's face as she waited for his reaction. As she waited for him to disgrace Annie. It's not happening. Not now. Not ever.

He looked up at Annie with as much love in his eyes as there ever was and ever will be.

Then he looked at Millicent and said, "It looks delicious."

Picking up the knife and fork, he cut through the meat he had never tasted before and ate every mouthful.

"She's vicious. She really is. And it's all jealousy and insecurity. And every time I think about how she screws up Annie…"

__

Millicent, he discovered, had the talent to upset Annie with very little effort. Not that she ever said anything overtly hurtful. Nothing that could not be construed as innocent. But he'd been with Annie when they'd bumped into Millicent in town and she'd complimented Annie on not being a slavish follower of fashion.

"I think it's sweet that you're still wearing your hemlines so long. So respectful and well, obedient."

Her eyes had flickered over to him and he'd felt Annie's fingers tighten on his arm at the very idea that he would ever tell her how to dress.

"Woman's poison."

Saul broke off and stared at his cold coffee and Rusty wondered whether that was the end of the story or whether he ought to make it the end of the story because he could already see that Saul was way down the emotional path and he wanted to leave him a way back. Then Saul spoke again.

"We'd been married a couple of years and I was out of town. Houston. Big money. Impersonating an oil baron. Taking down a man who'd trod on toes he shouldn't have done."

He broke off and wiped a hand down his mouth and said, "I got the full story eventually."

__

She wasn't certain at first. She'd always been regular but that was no assurance. But the weeks passed and again she missed and her heart leapt with joy because she could already see Saul's face, already see the pride and the love and the happiness, because that was what's running through her at that moment.

Saul's away and she was not going to tell him over the phone. He was back in three days' time and that would be soon enough. She imagined cooking him the best dinner with her best apple crumble and telling him. There would be tears. Probably not just from her. In the meantime, she wanted to hug her secret close to her chest and at the same time, shout it from the rooftops. But Saul had to be the first to know.

She could not hide the smile though and when she opened the door to Millicent on the bright July morning, she wondered if Millicent guessed. She wondered if she had just given the game away just by being.

"I'm going into town, Annie, I have a few things to pick up and I thought how nice it would be to have your company."

"Oh, Millicent, I…"

It's a warm day and she didn't really want to spend it with Millicent. The trees out the back were much more appealing.

"Now, Annie, I won't take no for an answer. I hate the thought of you stuck in here while Saul's away on business. Unless you think he wouldn't want you to go out anywhere…"

Well, when she put it like that…

"Of course, Millicent."

Millicent picked up more than a few things. And Annie ended up carrying them as Millicent added to her shopping. She trailed round after Millicent feeling more and more drained.

"Do you have much more to get?" she asked.

"Just a few things from Thompson's."

Thompson's was the big clothes store on the edge of town. A way away. She'd sighed and padded after Millicent.

By the time they'd got back to Millicent's house, she was feeling nauseous.

"Can I use your bathroom, Millicent?"

"Certainly. Use the one upstairs. We've just had new carpet in there."

She'd just about managed the stairs and pushed open the door to the bathroom with its plush white carpet. As she was violently sick down the toilet, she heard the door go downstairs and Millicent making welcoming noises. Oh, she couldn't cope with seeing anyone else at the moment. Not the way she felt. She seriously doubted whether she could stand upright at the moment and she didn't want to take her head away from the toilet bowl.

After about five minutes, she made herself crawl over to the door and push it to, even as the laughter floated up to her and then faded away as if the group downstairs were going out the back to Millicent's patio. Then she lay down on the carpet and wished the room would stop going round and that her stomach would stop those little cramping motions.

"The cramps didn't stop." Saul's voice was as bleak as Rusty had ever heard it. "And the blood started."

__

The blood started. She didn't realise at first, didn't understand the warmth on her thighs and thought she must have embarrassed herself and what would she say to Millicent and then she'd touched the blood and she'd seen the red on her fingers and eyes wide, she'd realised and she'd screamed.

Over and over, she screamed and when she had no screams left inside her, she'd cried hot tears of despair and wretchedness. Because she was strong and healthy and her body never let her down and here it was doing just that. And she could feel the baby – her baby – their baby passing from her, slipping from her grasp and it was the worst feeling in the world and all she wanted was Saul, all she wanted was his arms around her, to hold her, to tell her it was going to be alright and that it wasn't her fault and he wasn't there, he wasn't there…

"I wasn't there." And the guilt was still raw. "Annie was on her own when she needed me most."

__

After a while, when she was all cried out, she knew she ought to move, ought to get to a doctor's, but she found it hard to lift her head from the floor, hard to raise herself up on her elbow. The blood was still coming, she could still feel it pouring from her and she hadn't got the energy to move. But surely Millicent must have missed her by now, surely all she had to do was wait for Millicent…

"Four hours," Saul said stonily. "Four hours, Annie lay on that bathroom floor before Millicent's friends left and she went looking for her."

__

The door opened and she barely registered Millicent standing in the doorway looking down at her. Just before she swam into unconsciousness, she heard Millicent exclaim.

"Good God, Annie. Look at the state of the bathroom floor!"

"Millicent got her to hospital. She rang Beryl and told her. And when I couldn't reach Annie, I rang Beryl who told me. And while I was flying back, my Annie was on the operating table."

__

He'd run through the corridors at full pelt and he'd stopped in front of the private room that Marty has managed to secure for Annie. As he pushed open the doors, all he could see was how pale she was lying there, her hair fanned around her on the pillow, framing her face.

"I'm so sorry, Saul," she said and the tears poured from her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

And he heard about the baby that never was and the babies that now would never be because they've had to take that away from her to save her life. He cried with her and held her close and rocked her till her sobs died down and told her that all he ever wanted was her, all he ever wanted was her happiness. Nothing else mattered.

"Marty told me, under duress, that if she'd reached the hospital sooner, they wouldn't have had to take such drastic measures. If she'd reached the hospital later, nothing they could have done would have saved her."

Saul wiped his eyes.

"So you see, Rusty, I hate Millicent with a passion because she took away something that I couldn't give back to Annie. Not with any con. Not with any amount of money. And it's not like we could formally adopt, is it?"

He wiped the tears away again.

"And at the same time, I owe Millicent Annie's life. So what do I do about that except put up with her? What can Annie do about it except suffer her? Millicent's never going to leave town and Annie loves that house…"

Blinking back tears of his own, Rusty reached over and squeezed Saul's hand and Saul covered both their hands with his other.

"You're the best thing that could have happened to our lives, Rusty," he smiled. "You make Annie so damn happy, you know. I want to thank you for that. I don't know how long you want to stay with us. But it could be forever as far as we're concerned. You have to know that."

The tears refused to be held back any longer and Rusty felt himself pulled into a hug that comforted both of them.

* * *

The flight and the drive were purgatory and when they reached home and Annie opened the door, Rusty hung back so that Saul could envelop her in a fierce embrace.

Then, when she'd pulled free and smiled as if the demonstration of love hadn't been at all necessary when anyone could see that it so had, Rusty stepped forward and planted a kiss on her cheek and hugged her to him hard.

He felt her surprise melt away into happiness and she hugged him back. And he knew the one thing he was certain about was that Saul and Annie were definitely the best that could ever have happened to him.


	10. Celebrations1

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: Saul and Rusty are not my creations.

Chapter Ten: Celebrations1

A/N: well, this started off as a long chapter and became a stupidly long chapter and then became a ridiculously long chapter. Sigh. So lest you all give up the will to live while reading, I'm breaking it. Likely to be two parts, I think. But I haven't finished writing it yet.

* * *

The headache was uncomfortable. It wasn't insistent. It was just there. He couldn't shift it but it was manageable. He sat in the café and rubbed at the side of his forehead as he watched Saul heading back with a tray and coffee and milkshake and cake.

"It's nearly the end of November," Saul said unnecessarily and Rusty looked at him.

"I should warn you that Annie has a thing about high days and holidays," Saul went on and this time Rusty frowned.

"Thanksgiving," he said finally, working it out.

Saul looked mildly surprised. "Thanksgiving," he nodded and then frowned himself. "You do know-"

"Yeah, yeah. Pilgrims. Indians. Turkey."

He knew the basics of it. Thanksgiving had generally just passed him by. And last year it had fallen three weeks after the unseasonal blizzard. He didn't remember MacAvoy giving him the day off.

He picked up the glass of milkshake and rubbed it against his temple. It felt cool and good and he hoped it didn't look too weird and if it didn't, he wondered if it would look too weird to walk around with the glass pressed to his forehead.

Saul sipped his coffee. "Just be prepared to eat. A lot."

Rusty smiled in spite of the headache. It was a tough job but he could probably manage it.

* * *

The headache didn't disappear. And the intermittent shivers started.

* * *

Annie disappeared into a world of preparation and planning, stockpiling groceries and cutting out recipes. Rusty would walk into the kitchen and see her standing at the sink, her eyes, distant and thoughtful. At nighttime, he would see her working on her needlework and then she would stop and scribble something down on the pad of paper beside her.

Whatever Annie had planned, he could feel his mouth watering already.

* * *

The shivers increased. And the fever started licking its way slowly through him.

* * *

Thanksgiving dawned. His head still ached but he wasn't going to spoil Annie's enjoyment by anything as minor as a headache and a few shivers and so what if he felt a little off? He wasn't going to create a scene.

Saul and Rusty were told by a stern look to keep well out of the way and they took the hint. They sat in the lounge and Saul dealt the cards, laying down four royal flushes.

"You want to have a go?"

Rusty looked at him with a wry smile. "You think I could ever do that?"

"Of course, you could. Here." He handed Rusty the deck. "Let's work on it."

* * *

He'd managed an Ace, a King and a Queen across the four hands when the door opened and Annie appeared, floury apron around her, a smudge of something orange across her cheek, looking tired but happy.

"Lunch is ready," she smiled and Saul leapt up.

"We don't need to be told twice, do we, Rusty?"

No, not where Annie's cooking was concerned. He stood up and almost had to sit down again but his footing held and he followed Saul out to the dining room.

The table was laden. Turkey, trimmings, potatoes, vegetables, pie. Annie's smile was reflected in Saul and Rusty's faces.

"Before we start, I'd like us to say what we want to give thanks for," Annie said hesitantly. "If that's OK."

"I always give thanks that I found you, Annie," Saul told her at once. "I don't need to wait till a Thursday in November to think of that." He looked over at Rusty with fondness. "And now…"

The smile broke out on Rusty's face. He couldn't help it even if he wanted to. It flushed up within him and even though his head hurt, he couldn't stop the smile. It raged through him because he was thankful, so very thankful. He hadn't felt thankful in this way since…

"Rusty?" Annie's voice was far away and anxious. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I-I just need some water."

He made to stand up and slipped down to the floor in a dead faint.

* * *

"How is he?" Saul asked.

"He's burning up," Annie replied worriedly.

Saul looked down at Rusty, stripped to his T and boxers and lying in bed, breathing shallowly.

"Marty's on his way." He glanced at Annie. "I'm so sorry about the meal."

She shook her head at him. "What does food matter?"

* * *

Marty arrived and waved away Saul's apologies for dragging him out on a holiday.

"He just collapsed," Annie said, voice full of worry as they came into Rusty's bedroom.

"After one of your meals, that's permitted," Marty told her. "Before is unusual."

He delved into his case and produced stethoscope and thermometer.

"Let's check him out."

Marty lifted up the T and placed the stethoscope to Rusty's chest and listened with the practised air of one who knows what they're doing. He moved the stethoscope over and listened again and then saw Rusty's eyes looking up at him. Wide and scared. Time hung for a moment and then…

"It's alright, Rusty! It's alright! It's Marty-" Saul grabbed Rusty's wrists as Rusty launched himself upwards, clawing at Marty's face.

"No!" It was a feral howl and it shook through all three of them.

Rusty thrashed in Saul's grip as Marty leant across his body to keep him to the bed.

"Please, Saul, please! I don't want it! I don't want it! Please!" He struggled to free himself. "Don't make me! Please! I don't want to!"

"Calm down, Rusty," Saul said frantically. "Marty's here to help!"

Rusty's gaze fell on Annie, open-mouthed at the side of the bed.

"Annie, don't let them, please don't let them, please don't let them, please don't…" he trailed off into sobs that shuddered through his body.

"Rusty, dear, it's alright, I'm here." Annie knelt beside him and stroked his face, his burning hot face.

"Stand up, Marty. Let him go, Saul," she said. "He thinks you're going to hurt-" She looked at Saul in sudden horror and he got it at the same time, dropping Rusty's wrists like they were on fire.

Marty realised too and swore softly and got to his feet. Rusty shrank back on the bed, pulling his body up to him.

"Rusty, you're not well," Annie said gently. "Marty's trying to help but he needs you to let him do his job. No one's going to hurt you."

Rusty looked at her with eyes that had been betrayed before. Then he closed his eyes and nodded miserably.

Marty was quick with his examination and the only reaction from Rusty was when Marty pushed the thermometer against his lips with an "Open, please". As Marty finished, Rusty turned on his side and curled into a ball.

"He's running a temperature," Marty said. "That much is obvious. His heart is racing. It sounds like it might be one of the viruses that are doing the rounds.

"You said he had a virus earlier this year," Saul reminded him.

"Yeah. Looks like it's left him vulnerable." Marty put his instruments away and pulled out a bottle of pills and clicked his case close. "Well, there's not much you can do with viruses except let them burn themselves out. Keep plenty of fluids going in to him and give him two of these every six hours." He handed the bottle over. "They'll help."

"Thank you, Marty," Annie said sincerely.

"Just remember to invite me for New Year," he smiled and left.

* * *

"Here." Saul put a plate with some turkey and bread and butter on the floor and sat down beside her, resting up against the wall. "How is he?"

"I think he's still sleeping."

"Well, sleep's a healer."

Annie burrowed back into Saul, feeling the warmth and safety of him and he wrapped his arms around her and the pair of them looked up at the bed. Rusty turned in his sleep towards them, his mouth slightly open, his breath coming in a shallow, little pattern, his cheeks flushed, his eyes flickering under his lids.

"He thought…" Annie whispered.

"He thought," Saul agreed grimly.

"Oh, Saul…" she shook her head and he held her even tighter.

* * *

There was wetness being gently wiped around his face. He shifted and opened his eyes carefully to see Annie perched on the side of the bed, flannel in hand.

"Rusty, dear, how are you feeling?"

Well, his head was throbbing and his mouth was dry and he felt as weak as a kitten.

"Fine?" he rasped.

"Do you think you can sit up for me?"

With her help, he struggled into a sitting position and she pulled the pillows up behind him as support and pressed a glass of water into his hand. He drank it down in big gulps and she waited till he had drunk half and then gently pulled it from him.

"Marty said that you have a virus, Rusty. All we can do is keep you safe and warm and give you plenty to drink."

He nodded even though it hurt. Annie gave him the glass again and two little pills. Pills and water. Yeah. He swallowed them and then the fever swamped him again.

* * *

It was two days later before he woke up and tried to work out what was missing and realised it was the pain in his head. He stared up at the ceiling and wondered if he had enough energy to get out of bed. It had to be worth a try.

Saul heard the crash and came running.

"It's OK, Rusty, I've got you."

Hands pulled him upright and supported him and got him back to the edge of the bed.

"Take it easy, son, you've been out for the count for three days, you know."

_Three days?_ Rusty blinked at him.

"Stay tucked up in bed and Annie'll bring you some food up."

"OK…" His voice sounded strained and out of practice and he cleared his throat. "OK," he said again and hoped it sounded more like him.

Annie brought food on a tray; there was limitless water on the bedside table; Saul or Annie sat and kept him company when he wanted it and left him in peace when he didn't. After a couple of days, he felt strong enough to get up and dressed and leave the room.

He found Saul in the hall, coat on, car keys in hand and obviously about to leave.

"Hey!" Saul's face lit up. "You're feeling better."

"I guess," Rusty agreed. Something was niggling at the back of his mind but he couldn't quite place it.

"I have to leave," Saul said apologetically and Rusty frowned at the apology and then realised.

"Carter's job." The one in Boston. The one where Rusty was supposed to go along and watch and shadow and listen and learn. His face fell.

"Don't worry, Rusty," Saul smiled. "We'll find something similar in the New Year. Right now, you need to stay put, eat a lot of Annie's cooking and get well. I'll be back in three weeks and I expect to see you with a lot more colour in your cheeks."

The something kept niggling at Rusty.

"Marty said you need some recovery time. Don't try to run before you can walk."

_Marty…_

Rusty's eyes flew open. "Saul! Oh, Saul, I'm sorry!"

Saul seemed to realise at once what the apology was for. He put a hand on Rusty's shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze.

"I'm not going to say it's fine or it doesn't matter, Rusty." He looked him in the eyes. "I'm not the one hurting and nor is Marty. And neither of us is upset with _you_."

Annie appeared in the hall and Saul's attention switched to her, wrapping her into a bear hug.

"See you in three weeks, Annie. It'll nearly be Christmas so make sure you're ready for it."

She threw her arms around his neck and giggled. "I'll try."

And Saul was gone.

"Oh, it's so good to see you up and about," Annie beamed at Rusty. "You frightened us, you know." And as Rusty's face clouded over, she added hurriedly, "When you collapsed, I mean."

"I'm sorry I spoilt Thanksgiving, Annie," he said sincerely. "All that work. The food looked amazing. And I didn't even get to eat it."

"Practice run for Christmas," she promised. "Now. It's nearly lunchtime. Why don't we have a bite to eat and then spend the afternoon doing nothing more strenuous than watching an old movie on the television?"

* * *

It was a Jimmy Stewart double bill: "Harvey" and "It's A Wonderful Life". Annie laughed and cried through both and Rusty passed her tissues while she passed him chocolates.

"I like Jimmy Stewart," Annie confessed when the movies had finished.

"I think I do too," Rusty said truthfully. He had spent the afternoon lost in a black and white world of wonder. He loved it.

* * *

The afternoon movie fast became a regular fixture. There was Hitchcock, there was Cary Grant, there was Bogart, there was Henry Fonda. Annie adored them all and Rusty understood why. There was magic here. More than the sum of their parts.

If this was an afternoon indulgence then it was earned by the work in the mornings. Annie refused help with the day to day chores but instead set him to tidy up one of the bedrooms used as storage.

"I keep asking Saul but I might as well ask the President. It's just not happening. And there's so much junk up here to sort."

There was indeed a great deal of accumulated oddities. A set of encyclopaedias, for instance.

"Something door to door," Annie said vaguely. "I almost thought he'd turned honest on me."

Rusty picked his way over to a stack of cassette tapes in the corner.

"Now those aren't down to Saul. We just kept receiving them in the post. Some sort of mix up and they wouldn't take them back and they wouldn't stop sending them and they never asked for any money so we kept them."

Rusty turned over the first one curiously. _Teach Yourself French._ Underneath were the opportunities to learn Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Cantonese, German, Russian, Japanese…

"Do you want them?" Annie asked, seeing the flicker of interest.

Rusty hesitated.

"I'd like to listen to them," he said eventually.

Speaking another language: it seemed such an elegant skill.

* * *

"Bonjour, monsieur. Je veux aller à Paris, s'il vous plaît."

The tape recorder kept him company as he stacked and stored and tidied and junk seemed a polite word for some of it. For one thing, what was that dog cage with no dog that barked all about? He kept getting side-tracked not least by the need to practise the French phrases until he had nailed them, but after a week or so, he eventually got to the point where floor could be seen.

Annie didn't ask him to look in the other room but she hadn't said not to either. He thought he might do her a favour and start in on it too.

The door swung open and if the first room had been a veritable Aladdin's cave, this room was full of suits and wigs and hats, like a never-ending wardrobe. Saul's wardrobe, he realised and froze in awe and wonder. Here, Saul created the parts Rusty knew he played.

Reverently, Rusty backed out of the room and shut the door.

* * *

By the time Saul returned in mid-December, three things had happened. The storage room had been tidied; the love of old movies was embedded as firmly in Rusty as it was in Annie; et Rusty parlait bien français.


	11. Celebrations2

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: owning no part of Oceanworld.

A/N: look, I'm not as bad with numbers as some. Ahem. There would appear to be at least a third part to this chapter. Sigh.

Chapter Eleven: Celebrations2

* * *

Christmas. More to the point, Christmas presents for Annie and Saul. He'd never had to think about this sort of thing before and he wanted to get it right.

Annie. It wouldn't be about the obvious or the excess. Rusty could see she lived simply and the things that delighted her were not expensive nor were they ostentatious.

Saul. What did you get for the man who could have anything he set his mind on? Rusty had had one idea and had been working on it but it didn't seem nearly enough.

"Saul and I've got some shopping to do," Annie smiled. "Would you like to come with us?"

Rusty's eyes travelled across to Saul and he tried to keep the question out of them.

"I'm driving," Saul said nonchalantly and Rusty tried not to nod acceptance too quickly.

* * *

"Let's meet back here for lunch," Annie suggested as they parked outside a diner.

"Twelve thirty?" Rusty asked because he liked to be certain about times where food was concerned.

"Twelve thirty it is," Saul confirmed.

The streets were crowded with shoppers, head down and intent on purchasing Christmas as quickly as they could. Rusty found himself pushed down a side street and he wandered away from the noise and the bustle.

He was meant to take that detour, he decided later. Because there was a dusty old bookstore with a dirty old window. And sitting on display was the perfect gift for Annie.

* * *

There was a parallel street that was full of the busy and the frantic and on the corner, stood the department store that Saul had taken him to to buy clothes. Rusty slipped through the door past those collecting for the Salvation Army and looked for inspiration.

The menswear department was full of harried women and men with harassed expressions that spoke of how little they loved shopping. The shop assistants themselves were being bright and falsely cheery and didn't look as if they had tired of the relentless Christmas carols being played on loop just yet.

Rusty's gaze travelled over clothes and hats and scarves and nothing seemed right for Saul. He saw the leather section with the belts and wallets and gloves and edged closer to study the racks. It would be easy to steal something but he wanted to buy Saul's present, even if the money used was stolen. Somehow the distinction seemed important.

"May I help you?"

The condescending voice belonged to a haughty man who stood a good few inches higher than Rusty and whose eyes were busy telling Rusty that he had no business anywhere near anything on sale. It was a step up from the looks shopkeepers had shot at him during his time with MacAvoy but it still labelled him. He bridled inwardly but shot the man a wide and charming smile.

"Just looking," he said cheerily and retreated to a spot by the jackets to watch.

Mr Condescending was a bastard. It was easy to see. He shouted at junior staff, sending one girl away in floods of tears. He knocked over what seemed to Rusty a perfectly good display of handkerchiefs and ordered a nervous minion to rebuild them. He smiled at customers with an ill grace unless they seemed likely to be generous with their spending: then he was all over them.

He was also less than honest. Rusty watched his hands closely. Dollar bills were finding their way into his pocket rather than the till. Christmas time, there would be temporary staff hired. The best cover for permanent staff to hide their dishonesty.

Rusty waited. The man had to go on a break at some point. And when he did… The lift was clean and precise and Rusty was walking away fast in the opposite direction before the man had time to recognise him.

The wallet was heavy with bills. Rusty extracted what he needed and then took the rest to the charity collectors on the door.

"What a generous donation, Mister…?"

"Oh, I like to stay anonymous," Rusty grinned.

He returned and made the purchase and headed for the diner where he found Annie and Saul surrounded by bags and laughing and there was food and happiness to be had.

* * *

If Annie had been excited about Thanksgiving, she was beside herself with Christmas. Saul dug up the little Christmas tree from the front garden and brought it in to the hall where it was strewn with many decorations.

"None of them match," she said to Rusty who was handing her baubles out of a box. "And some of them are a little worn."

He could see that.

"But I don't care," she beamed. "These were on the tree all the time I grew up."

Rusty had run out of multicoloured things to pass her apart from…

"Annie, this doll…"

"Oh, the angel," she nodded, taking it out of his hands. "Evie."

Rusty blinked. The angel had a name?

"She fell apart so many times over the years, she's held together with Evostick," Annie giggled. "Dad christened her Evie."

She placed Evie who indeed had seen better days on top of the tree with a finishing flourish and they stood back to admire their handiwork.

"Perfect," Annie sighed happily.

Rusty looked at it with a critical eye. The tree was off centre, the lights were missing a couple of bulbs (and he must fix that), the shine on the baubles had dimmed over the years and Evie still looked distinctly fragile. He turned to Annie and saw the happy smile on her face and knew that she was seeing the tree she had grown up with, with pristine decorations and a brand new Evie.

"It is perfect," he agreed and Annie's smile grew wider.

* * *

Presents bought, decorations hung, food prepared – _"Stir the pudding and make a wish," Annie had instructed and Saul and Rusty had complied_ – and Annie had brought out a candle to light in honour of Hanukkah which Saul had sighed at and which Rusty could tell he secretly liked. And there was only one small blot on the horizon.

Annie came into the lounge, her face hesitant and Saul looked up from his paper and Rusty pulled the headphones – "Sprechen Sie Deutsch" – away from his ears.

"We've all been invited up to Beryl's on Christmas Eve for drinks," Annie blurted out.

"Oh, good God," Saul muttered.

Annie looked at him helplessly.

"I know, I know, she's your sister," Saul sighed. "We'll go. Of course, we'll go."

Annie's expression did not change and Saul paled.

"Not Christmas Day, Annie."

"New Year's Eve," she whispered and Saul gave a groan.

"She will eat like a rabbit, drink like a fish and she will not be in a hurry to go home. Why would she be? It's cold and it's lonely."

Annie looked distraught and he stood up and pulled her to him. "Don't worry, Annie. It's just that I'm selfish enough to want to spend the holidays with my family. And Beryl's not part of that picture."

* * *

Christmas Eve came and so did the trip to Beryl's. Annie's sister lived a little way out of town in a new house with a neat and orderly garden. Regimented, in fact. It did nothing for Rusty.

The three of them stood on the mat and Saul rang the doorbell then turned to Annie who had had anxiety written all over her face since the day had dawned.

"I love you, Annie. I would walk through fire for you. And I am about to prove it."

"Oh, Saul!"

She looked thoroughly miserable and then he gave her a huge wink and gathered her to him.

"Saul!" Annie was blushing now.

"I don't care," he said and with that the door opened.

"Annie. Saul."

A tall, pinchfaced woman stood there. She had brown hair like Annie's but she wore it braided up in a bun. Her skirts were long and her blouse was high-necked, its collar pinned in place by a brooch. Rusty, who had sat through "Rebecca" with Annie only the week before, felt she must surely be related to Mrs Danvers.

He stared at the brooch again. Was that…?

"Beryl!" Annie pulled away from Saul. "This is Ru-Robert. Robert Ryan. Saul's nephew who's staying with us. Robert, this is my sister, Beryl."

"Pleased to meet you," Rusty said conventionally and Beryl nodded distantly at him.

"We're having drinks in the drawing-room," Beryl announced. "You may leave your coats in the hall."

They hung them up on hooks and trailed after her.

"We?" Saul said in a low voice, catching Annie's arm.

"Oh, she…oh, she can't have…I thought it was just us…"

There was shock in Annie's eyes that Rusty read and totally failed to understand until he walked into the drawing room and saw Millicent. Cocktail in hand, she was stood by the unlit fireplace, dressed in something that managed to be too short and too low-cut all at the same time.

"Annie!" she exclaimed and came forward to kiss her, leaving red lipstick traces on both cheeks.

"And Saul!" Saul submitted with as much good grace as he could muster.

"And you brought your nephew along too!" Millicent's eyes had got that gleam in them again. The gleam that was unsettling in the extreme.

"Millicent, this is Robert," Annie said and Rusty could hear the note of reluctance in her voice. "Robert, this is Mrs Rowntree."

Rusty stuck out his hand but Millicent waved it away with a laugh.

"Far too formal, Robert" and she leaned forward, placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed her lips to each cheek in turn.

Her fingers lingered on the tops of his arms like the scent in a perfumed flat. Then just before Annie or Saul, who were standing tensely beside him, could say a thing, she released him with that little smile that showed her perfect, even teeth.

* * *

The conversation was never going to be sparkling even before Millicent. Now it consisted of Annie, sipping a small sherry and trying to talk lightly with both women of mutual friends and acquaintances and how Beryl's garden was looking while Saul stood in silence and held his whisky tightly to him like it was a genie's lamp that could whisk all three of them out of there if only the wish was strong enough.

Rusty stood with him and tried to ignore the way Millicent's eyes kept straying over to him. He did his best not to meet her gaze and instead, focused on the glass of weak orange cordial that Beryl had given to him without even asking.

"Do you remember the parties Jack used to throw?" Millicent said fondly. "Oh, he knew how to enjoy himself."

There was a moment's hesitation and a glance at Beryl and then Annie nodded. "He certainly did."

"Such the party animal," Millicent giggled into her glass.

Beryl sighed into her own sherry and Annie just looked at Millicent with a tight little expression that Rusty puzzled over before deciding that Annie was cross about raising up ghosts.

"Such a lonely time of year," Beryl began and Rusty felt Saul tense. He suddenly realised what was coming and he could almost see the thought waves being directed at Annie from Saul. Hell, he was joining in with them.

_Don't, please, don't…_

"Being on your own, surrounded by memories…it's just so very wretched."

Annie's face was very still but the turmoil going on behind her eyes was plain to see.

"Spending Christmas Day alone…"

Annie's eyes briefly squeezed shut and when they opened again, Rusty knew she was about to do it. Even though she hated the idea. Even though she didn't want it in the slightest. She was going to give in. Because Annie was Annie and she couldn't help it. Annie couldn't do a thing. But he could.

He dropped the squash and staggered, clutching at Saul's arm to steady himself.

"Annie…? Oh, Annie, I don't feel too good…" He swayed again and she turned anxious eyes on him and he hated the fact that she thought this was genuine.

Saul's hand shot out to his forehead.

"He doesn't feel so great either. I'm sorry, Beryl, but I think we need to leave."

"Annie could stay," Beryl's eyes were narrow and stubborn. Oh, he was knocking that one way out of the park.

"Annie…?" Full on. Eyes wide with fear. Lips parted. Irresistible.

"Sorry, Beryl," Annie was moving to his side. "Have a lovely Christmas. You too, Millicent. See you New Year's Eve."

They were either side of him and hurrying him out of the room as Millicent's "Oh, I'd be delighted!" floated after them.

"Damn," Saul muttered with feeling as he heard it.

"Rusty, dear, do you feel sick?" Annie asked anxiously. "Have you got a headache? Saul, should we call Marty?"

Rusty waited till they were outside and closer to the car than Beryl's house and then he could bear it no longer.

"Annie, I'm fine."

He looked her in the eyes and she gasped as she understood.

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry, Annie."

"You're not ill," she whispered faintly.

"Not in the slightest."

"And…" Annie looked at Saul. "And we're on our own for Christmas."

Saul couldn't stop the grin on his face and the half-laugh fell out of Annie.

"I never want to lie to you, Annie," Rusty said earnestly.

She hugged him to her and kissed his cheek.

"You're forgiven," she smiled into his hair.


	12. Celebrations3

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: own nothing to do with Ocean's.

A/N: Sigh. Wanted to put New Year's Eve with this. But they're better as shorter standalones.

And I _hate_ it when you're right. ;p

Chapter Twelve: Celebrations3

* * *

The novelty of waking up at Saul and Annie's still hadn't escaped him. There was warmth. There was security. Food and drink and laughter waited for him. And there was no dragging himself up stairs to MacAvoy's flat, no seeing MacAvoy's vile smile, no allowing himself to be used. Three months ago seemed a lifetime away and at the same time, as fresh as yesterday.

His fingers ran over the soft bed linen as if to reassure himself that he was indeed in the place of safety and shelter. He was. He was.

"Rusty? You up yet?"

Saul's voice just outside his door and sounding positively joyous.

"Yeah…er, kind of."

"We're downstairs."

Well, that was no different to any other morning. They were always up and downstairs. Always before him and he didn't think he was slow to rise. And then it hit him. Christmas.

* * *

He was washed and dressed in record time and he ran into Annie and a plateful of warm bagels lavished with cream cheese at the foot of the stairs.

"Morning, Annie. And let me," he said, taking the plate from her.

"In the lounge, Rusty, dear," she beamed and kissed him on the cheek. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Annie," he replied and felt the infectious good humour run through him.

Saul was already waiting behind what seemed to be a mountain of presents.

"Come on, come on," he beckoned Rusty in.

"Let the boy have some breakfast first," Annie said, bringing with her mugs of coffee and chocolate.

Saul's eyes were on Rusty's.

"Maybe, Annie," Rusty said slowly, "we could do presents and breakfast together?"

Annie looked from one to the other of them and sighed. "I doubt there's a maybe about it."

* * *

Mouthfuls of bagel and sips of chocolate and gifts were sorted out and present after present was pushed at him.

"These can't-" he began but Saul gave a gruff laugh and Annie's eyes were dancing and he tried only once more to say to Saul that this was ridiculously more than he could accept, that Saul and Annie had already given him so much more than he had ever had the right to ask for by opening up their home to him. He said it with his eyes because he knew Saul would read everything and he didn't want to hurt Annie's feelings by saying it out loud.

Saul just smiled at him and asked Annie nicely for a refill. While she hurried to the kitchen to top up the mugs, Saul leaned over.

"Rusty. You're not the sort of boy to ask. For anything. And that makes you the sort of boy we want to give to. A lot."

Annie's footsteps were in the hall.

"Now shut up and enjoy."

* * *

Rusty was in some sort of dream. He was almost certain. Because colourful paper was melting away under his fingers to reveal things of beauty and practicality and sometimes both.

The dark blue silk shirt threaded through with silver was paused over and marvelled at and he looked up at Saul who shrugged.

"Saw you liked it. Thought it'd suit you."

"It's…it's…" He shook his head.

There were other silk shirts and cotton shirts and three suits – "Off the peg but I think they'll fit" – and shoes and a long, winter coat and a razor - "You're starting to need that" - and chocolate and candy and a radio and a book on the Hollywood stars and he was dizzy with disbelief and delight and he looked up at Saul and Annie and he saw their pleasure as they looked at him.

Overwhelmed, he blinked back sudden tears and the change in his face was enough to have Annie scrabble forward and lay a hand on his arm.

"Thank you," he managed and felt the inadequacy of the words. He squeezed her hand. "Thank you. Thank you both."

He didn't see the glance that she exchanged with Saul because he was concentrating on not letting the tears fall. But he guessed that Saul would act to take the spotlight off him because Saul was all about keeping people comfortable.

"Right, Annie Bloom. Time for your presents."

There was rolls of drawer liner paper from Beryl.

"Every year," Annie sighed with amusement. "How many drawers does she think I have to line?"

"What did we get her?" Saul asked. "Tell me it wasn't something nice."

"Saul!" Annie exclaimed, shock and exasperation in her voice. "Padded coathangers if you must know."

"Good," Saul approved. "Though she'll probably like them."

There was a bottle of heavy scent from Millicent. Annie took the top off and sniffed it gingerly. She pulled a face and offered the bottle to Saul.

"Wear it and I will never come near you again," was his verdict. "And what did we buy Millicent."

Annie was unusually coy. "Something practical."

"Longjohns? An undershirt?" Saul suggested. "'Cos seeing that dress she was wearing last night she could probably do with the added warmth."

"No!" Annie was laughing again. "We…we bought her a book on how to make preserves and pickles."

Saul stared at her as she didn't meet his eyes and then looked over at an amused Rusty.

"Can you see Millicent in an apron peeling shallots or rinsing raspberries?"

Rusty shook his head.

"Neither can I. Annie, I could be mistaken, but did you deliberately buy Millicent a present that she will have no use for?"

Annie's fingers were twisting together now and still she didn't look up.

"I'm a bad person," she whispered eventually.

"You are shocking," Saul agreed gravely and this time, she did raise troubled eyes to look at him. "Make sure you do it again next year."

She scowled at him and he leaned over and kissed her and when he sat back, there was an envelope on her lap.

"Merry Christmas, Annie."

"Tickets to the ballet?" Annie's eyes were wide as she pulled them from the envelope. "Oh, Saul! How wonderful!"

She threw her arms round him and he returned the hug.

"Not my thing but I know you like it," he said.

"Your turn," Annie insisted and Saul grinned.

"It's not going to take me long. I've got a bottle of malt from Marty and I've got slippers and socks from you."

Annie rolled her eyes. "You are impossible, Saul."

"Well, it's true," Saul's grin got wider. "And it's not like I need anything else, Annie. I've got just what I need in this room."

* * *

The alcohol, socks and slippers opened, Saul sat back in his chair and sighed happily. Then he looked over at Annie. "So, how long to lunch?"

"Actually…" Rusty began nervously and they both looked over at him. "Actually, I've got something… I mean," he gestured at the presents in front of him, "they're not… they're nowhere near… but… They're up in my room."

"Rusty, we didn't expect…" Annie tailed off.

Saul was looking at him with something Rusty couldn't pin down. "Thank you, Rusty," he said simply and Rusty disappeared to fetch the presents.

When he'd gone, Annie turned to Saul.

"He didn't have to."

"No, he didn't. And others wouldn't, Annie. But Rusty did."

* * *

He felt self-conscious and suddenly nervous handing the little package over to Annie. It was how he had felt with the bunch of freesias. _She liked them, _he reminded himself.

Annie's fingers carefully pushed the paper aside and then she gave a little gasp of delight and held up the book for Saul to see.

"An Anthology of Victorian Poetry," Saul read and smiled at Annie's smile. "I recognise the ship on the front."

The _Fighting Temeraire_ was on the dustjacket.

"It's OK, isn't it?" Rusty asked and tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. "I mean I saw the picture-"

He was cut off as Annie enveloped him in a hug and kisses and there were tears from her and Rusty felt the happiness running out of her.

"Thank you, Rusty, oh, thank you," she sniffed and Saul leaned over with a handkerchief.

"Don't worry, I won't tell Beryl that you didn't cry over the drawer liner."

She giggled and sobbed and the two merged into soft, little hiccoughs.

"Saul." Rusty pushed the present over to him.

Saul tore through the paper in the exact opposite to the way Annie had opened her present and he found himself looking at a smart, new wallet.

"I've got the receipt," Rusty said. And Saul heard the two-fold reason for saying that.

Saul's fingers found the money inside and Rusty watched him count it. All sixty dollars of it.

"Thank you," Saul said and the sincerity and the pride were evident.

* * *

Annie had disappeared to the kitchen to work on lunch.

"I also…" Rusty hesitated. "Look, I…"

He shook his head at himself and then produced the pack of cards. As Saul watched, he shuffled and dealt. Four royal flushes. Perfectly.

Saul stared at the cards for what seemed the longest time.

"I-I practised," Rusty said eventually. "Finding the Jack and the ten-"

He stopped talking as Saul looked up at him finally. Saul's eyes were busy saying everything that Saul didn't look like he could begin to say.

Eventually, Saul managed, "You make me very proud, Rusty."

And that felt like the best present of all.


	13. Celebrations4

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: don't own Saul, don't own Rusty.

A/N: Happy 2009, everyone!

Chapter Thirteen: Celebrations4

* * *

New Year's Eve had never been a time for major celebration that Rusty could remember. And he had spent last New Year's Eve in a small and barely heated room watching Marvin drink his way through half a bottle of alcohol of dubious origin that he'd lifted from one of the winos at the building site opposite. He couldn't think that was very sensible. Leaving aside what was actually in the bottle, you didn't want to get drunk and helpless at any time if you could help it. Too many people were willing to take advantage.

This New Year was, of course, going to be different. A party, Saul had declared. Marty was already due to look in for a drink and if Beryl and Millicent were also coming over, Saul was determined to dilute the experience by inviting as many as could make it.

"Hilary and Bert have a visitor but I said to bring the visitor too. Marge and Iris. Sam from the garage..." The list went on and Annie went from amused to concerned in a very short space of time.

"Saul, the food! The drink!"

"I will take care of the drink. You will take care of the food. Magnificently." He kissed her on the forehead and she shook her head at him.

Saul had been right, naturally. Before the first guest appeared, there was a huge bowl of punch and a range of other drinks available alongside a huge spread of what Saul called "nibbly food" from Annie.

"You don't have to stay," Annie had said. "It's going to be really boring for you. There's no one even close to your age."

Saul had nodded. "We won't mind if you want to bury yourself upstairs."

And he'd been tempted. Really tempted. But he was almost certain he owed Marty an apology from Thanksgiving and he knew Saul would be grateful for a hand with the drinks and if Millicent and Beryl were going to be there in force, he wanted to keep an eye on Annie and make sure she wasn't being pushed into agreeing to something she didn't want to do. Like inviting them for dinner any time soon.

So he'd stayed. He'd taken coats at the door and deposited them on his bed; he'd shaken hands with Sam Rollason, the swarthy man who ran the garage; he'd looked Marty in the eye and apologised; he'd found two glasses of punch for Marge and Iris who looked like they might just pat him on the head for his trouble.

And then Beryl had arrived with the barest of nods to acknowledge him. He took her coat and she was still wearing the brooch and he had to ask. Not Beryl, obviously. He caught Saul as he was headed to the kitchen.

"Beryl's brooch. Is that _hair_?"

It seemed inconceivable but Saul was nodding.

"Lock of her dead husband Jack's."

Oh, that was creepy.

"You're telling me," Saul murmured in agreement.

Millicent made a grand entrance about an hour after the party had started and she turned her back so that Rusty could pull her fur coat from her shoulders.

"Thank you, Robert," she smiled and he tried not to clench his teeth at the way she said his name. It was polite. It was formal. And just because she seemed to hang on to the syllables slightly longer than she should, didn't mean that he could say a thing about it.

Her dress was red velvet and just as revealing as the one he'd last seen her in and it did her just as many favours.

He carried the heavy fur upstairs and wondered how many dead animals Millicent was in the habit of wearing. He pushed open the door to his room, not bothering to hit the lights and made to drop it on his bed.

"Be careful with it, won't you?"

Millicent had followed him up. She stood in the doorway, framed by the light from the landing.

"It's the very best mink. My husband gave it to me as an engagement present."

"Husband?" he said before he could stop himself.

"Oh, yes," Millicent nodded. "My ex-husband, I should say. Divorced him three years ago."

She walked further into the room towards him.

"He was an absolute brute," she breathed and Rusty wasn't sure that she should be saying that with quite so much excitement in her voice.

He realised he still had hold of her coat and his fingers dug deeper into the pelt though he wanted to drop it and sprint past her because even though Millicent had done nothing, said nothing, everything instinctual was yelling at him to get as far away from her as he could.

With relief, he heard the door go and he unfroze, flung the fur down on the bed, twisted past Millicent with a "Have to get that" and ran down the stairs.

* * *

Hilary and Bert stood on the doorstep behind a petite, brown-haired woman in a smart trouser suit.

As coats were handed over, there was a squeal from behind Rusty and he turned to see Annie, delight in her face.

"Lucy! Oh, Lucy!"

The brunette looked startled and uncomfortable all at the same time and she let Annie throw her arms round her with as much awkwardness as Rusty himself had on his first evening in the house.

"Annie," Lucy smiled briefly, still holding herself stiffly till Annie let go of her.

"Hilary, Bert, come let me get you a drink." Saul was beckoning them into the lounge.

As they moved towards Saul, Lucy caught hold of Annie's arm and said in a fierce, low voice:

"Look, I'm only here because of my grandparents. You don't have to pretend to be nice to me. After an hour, they'll be ready to leave. And after that, you don't have to see me again."

Then she followed Hilary and Bert into the lounge and left Annie dumbstruck in her wake. Rusty holding the coats, stood forgotten in the background. And halfway down the stairs stood Millicent, eyes keen and interested.

* * *

Rusty found his way to Saul's side and Saul pressed a glass of punch into his hand.

"How you holding up?"

"OK…" Rusty took a swig of punch and then another. He hadn't had a drink in a while but tonight he felt he might just need one. He looked askance at Saul.

"Millicent was married?" It still seemed unlikely.

"Three times," Saul nodded. "None of them lasted longer than a couple of years. She keeps her maiden name and half his assets. He gets off lightly, I'd say."

He looked at Rusty as if he wanted to say something and then changed his mind.

"Hilary and Bert's granddaughter, Lucy. Annie seems to know her."

"She does? Saul shrugged. "She never mentions her."

Rusty looked over at Annie, fussing nervously round the table of food, her mind clearly elsewhere and wondered what the story was.

Saul's eyes followed Rusty's and equal curiosity possessed them.

* * *

Annie had to admit to herself she was a little all over the place. Alison and Greg Halloway had complimented her twice on the food before she'd heard and smiled. Beryl had asked her something and she wasn't even sure what answer she'd given.

She glanced across the room and saw Rusty looking at her and then saw Saul's gaze on her and the concern and the love and the incomprehension and she wanted to talk to him so badly in a room full of people. She wanted to ask his advice and hear words of reassurance but Saul was staring at her and she realised she didn't need to talk to him. She didn't need to exchange words. She just needed him there.

Full of resolve, she suddenly knew what she was going to do.

* * *

Marty and Sam were talking just a little way away from where Saul and Rusty were stood and they'd put the football scores to rights and Sam was talking about hunting trips and how he wished he had a little more time to himself and what wouldn't he give for an occasional extra pair of hands.

* * *

Lucy was stood politely, not listening, as Hilary and Bert held conversation with Marge and Iris about gardens and weather and what a polite young man Saul Bloom's nephew was and no, they couldn't see the family resemblance either but there had to be good breeding there.

* * *

Beryl was stood with a plate of food she had hardly touched, peering down at it with distaste and disapproval and letting her views on Annie's cooking be known to Millicent who was at her side, glass in hand, staring over Beryl's shoulder at the picture above the fireplace, looking at the reflective glass and watching Rusty.

* * *

Two things happened almost simultaneously.

Annie walked up to Lucy and asked for a hand to bring food through from the kitchen.

And Marty spun round and clapped Rusty on the shoulder and brought him and Saul into the conversation he was having with Sam.

* * *

The moment they were on their own in the kitchen, Annie asked.

"Lucy. What's this about?"

"You're asking me?" The words were hostile and incomprehensible.

"I haven't seen you for what must be twenty years and the first thing you say to me is-"

"You hurt me, Annie Matthews! And I'm sorry if you think it's going to be water under the bridge but no. I don't think so."

Lucy was glaring at her and still Annie didn't know the reason for the anger.

"You came to see your grandparents back in…wow. 1960."

"Yes, 1960. Summer of. Six weeks. And we-"

"We had fun."

They had. They'd been the same age and they'd been introduced and lived out of each others pockets for the next month and a half and it had been a good friendship. Immediate and they had liked each other and liked the same things and laughed at the same things.

"I thought you liked me," Lucy accused. "I liked you! I thought we were going to keep in touch."

"I tried…"

"Six letters I wrote, Annie. Six letters. I didn't hear from you once."

Annie blinked at her.

"I never got any…look, I wrote to you! Not six letters but I wrote three times."

"I didn't get any mail. What? You think the mailman managed to lose nine letters?"

Annie stared at her, thoughts spinning through her – _"Post? I'll take it." - _and she suddenly knew just what had happened to the letters.

"No. I don't think it was the mailman."

* * *

"Sam was saying he could do with some help down at the garage," Marty explained. "Wondered if it'd be something Rusty might be interested in."

"It'd just be now and then," Sam said hurriedly. "And I can't pay much. But I can teach you about cars. If you'd like."

_If he'd like… _

"I'd like," Rusty grinned. "I'd like very much."

"Great. Call by on Monday. We'll sort something out."

* * *

"Lucy, I need you to believe me. I wanted to keep in touch. I really did. And I promise you I tried to write to you. And I promise you I never got any letters from you. But didn't you see how happy I was to see you? Even after all this time? Can't we start over?"

Lucy looked at the earnest face that didn't know how to sell a lie and there was still hurt and there was still pain but somewhere there was a fifteen year old girl who'd loved Elvis and Jimmy Stewart and "Casablanca" and who'd found someone who'd felt the same and who wanted to believe and trust and she gave a slow nod and a slow grin and this time, she returned Annie's hug.

* * *

Rusty wasn't certain exactly how he'd ended up staring at his reflection in the hall mirror. Some light-hearted discussion on Christmas presents with Marty and Sam and Saul.

"_Razor. Always a good present for a young man," Sam had nodded._

"_Not so young, now," Marty had corrected, thinking of the records he'd taken down. "Seventeen soon – when is it, Feb 4__th__?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Your whole life ahead of you," Sam had said. "Time to start making choices."_

_And Saul and he had exchanged an amused glance because Rusty had already done that without ever saying a word. _

Now he was looking at the boy - _the man _- in the mirror and thinking about what the New Year would bring. Start of a new decade. Start of so many things…

The voice behind him startled him and he almost jumped.

"So, what do your friends call you? Bob? Rob? Does anyone call you Rob?"

_Rob…_

He looked at her eyes in the mirror, bright and gleaming, and he couldn't stop the pain showing, couldn't stop the flash of agonised memory surfacing, couldn't hide the shudder. From Millicent. Of all people.

She saw, of course. She saw but she didn't understand. How could she? How could anyone? And he knew that if he'd let anything slip in front of Saul or Annie they would have stepped away from the subject and there would have been respect and time for him to recover. Millicent was giving him none of that.

"Oh, there's a story!" she laughed delightedly. "I bet it's a girl. Was it a girl? Did she break your heart? Was Rob her special little name for you?"

He almost laughed. He almost cried. Because the pain of the name was so far removed from an unhappy love affair, it wasn't true.

"Don't worry, baby, I won't tell a soul."

Millicent was still watching the emotion he couldn't control. Feeding off it. He gritted his teeth and locked the memories down, composed himself and stared back at her with eyes as blank as only he could make them.

"Nothing to tell," he assured her.

"Come on, baby," she went on, voice like sugar and strychnine, "your secret's safe with me."

He turned round to face her.

"It's nothing." _It wasn't nothing._

"It's just a name I outgrew." _It was a name he was never going to use again. _

"There's no mystery, there's no story." _The story was never going to be shared with anyone._

"There's nothing."

Millicent's eyes were dancing and he could read anticipation and eagerness and with a sinking heart, he knew that she was storing this up. Storing this up for the future, please God, because he couldn't bear her to start in again on it now.

"There you are!" Saul came round the corner and Rusty glanced at him. He'd been looked for. "Can you give me a hand topping up the punch?"

"Sure." Grateful.

He moved past Millicent who turned her body almost out of the way so that he still had to brush past her.

"You OK?" Saul asked in a low voice as they walked into the kitchen.

"I'm fine," he said and realised as soon as he'd said it that Saul would hear the lie.

Saul caught his arm and stared at him sharply. "Millicent hasn't...she didn't..."

"No!" Rusty exclaimed. "No. She just...she was just..." He broke off. "She was just Millicent," he said flatly and Saul's lips tightened.

* * *

"Lucy Dawson."

"Marty Driver. Can I get you some more punch?"

"Thank you."

He handed her a glass and she smiled up at the tall man who hunched his shoulders just a little as if to compensate for his height.

"You know Annie and Saul long?"

"Yes and no," she confessed. "I mean I don't know Saul at all. And I haven't seen Annie in half a lifetime. I'm the granddaughter of the neighbours."

"Hilary and Bert," Marty nodded. "You must be little Lucy from Denver."

She laughed.

"Not so little. Well…" she waggled her head in acknowledgement of the height gap between them. "Older, anyway."

She sipped her drink and then asked casually, "What are they like? Saul and Annie?"

Marty smiled.

"They're good people. I think Saul's the luckiest man alive because Annie is the sweetest girl in creation. Beats me how she ended up with one harpy for a sister and another who calls herself her best friend."

He jerked his head over towards Beryl and Millicent.

"You tried her food?" he asked. "Girl can cook."

"Oh, I can't cook to save my life!" Lucy giggled.

"I bet someone held a gun to your head and said cook me a meal you'd have a go."

"Yes, I would. Scared as I was, I would. And then they'd die from food poisoning and that would serve them right."

Marty laughed and she laughed with him.

* * *

New Year itself grew ever closer.

Saul put the television on with the live countdown from Times Square and everyone joined in the backward number chant.

"Happy New Year!"

The room exploded in whoops and chants and Rusty saw Saul lean in and steal a moment of tenderness from Annie, saw Marty awkwardly bend and kiss Lucy on the cheek, saw Hilary and Bert giggle at each other and then he felt the hand on his shoulder.

"Happy New Year, baby."

The words were breathed at him and he twisted around and out of her grip and the kiss she was angling to plant on his lips ended up on his right cheek and he grimaced.

"Let's hope it's a good one…" Millicent smiled the smile that put all his teeth on edge.

And then Annie was at his side and pulling him away and wishing him a "Happy New Year" and putting herself between him and Millicent.

* * *

The party was over and Annie had insisted they leave everything as it was until morning.

"Bed," she'd said sternly.

Now she was brushing out her hair and she had haltingly told an insistent Saul the story of the summer and the friendship and the letters Beryl had offered to post and the letters that Beryl must have taken off the doormat before she'd even had a chance to read them.

"She…she…" Annie sighed. "Saul, why does she? Why do _they_…? What have I ever done? Why?"

And he'd put his arms round her and told her the truth.

"You've done nothing. They do it because they're made that way. And they're jealous of you, Annie. Because you're not made that way."

He kissed her.

"Lucy going to be visiting more often?"

"Yes," and Annie's face lit up. "She is."

"Good. You deserve to have a friend who is a friend."

* * *

In his room, Rusty lay on his bed and thought more about the inner conversation he'd been having with himself before Millicent had interrupted. A new year; new choices; new lessons.

And he planned to make the most of the experience.

* * *

A/N: Now, you'd think that this would be it, wouldn't you? Nope. Sigh.

Edited to say that I realise some readers may have no clue why Rusty reacts the way he does to the name "Rob". And that reading "Self Possession" ought to explain things.


	14. Celebrations5

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: don't own, don't own.

Chapter Fourteen: Celebrations5

* * *

Rusty was in love. She was an older woman and maybe not as nimble as a younger model but she had class. She had the lines. She was beautiful. She was a Ford Mustang that Sam was doing up out the back of the garage and she was powder blue and Rusty could understand the reverence in Sam's voice and the gentleness with which he stroked the hood.

"A classic. A true classic. A real lady," Sam had said proudly and he'd seen the light in Rusty's eyes and they'd smiled together.

Considering Sam had only wanted someone on an infrequent basis, Rusty had spent most of January down at his garage.

"I know I don't have to," he'd said when Saul had gently pointed that fact out. "But I like Sam and I like the work and it's casual labour and it's cash in hand and Sam's not going to mind if I'm ever out of town for a while."

Learning about the mechanics of a car engine was interesting. There were innumerable parts and different functions and there was a distinct skill in coaxing the best from an engine and Sam was a master at ensuring that a car ran to its ultimate performance.

He was better at showing than explaining which worked for Rusty who was adept at observing and learning.

"See," Sam would say and Rusty would see everything Sam wasn't saying.

Sam seemed pleased that he'd found a quick learner and even happier when Rusty wanted to practise a technique until it was as close to how Sam would have done something as he could get.

"Good skill to have in life," Sam would say sagely and Rusty would nod in agreement.

Saul would swing by some lunchtimes and take him out to the diner round the back of Sam's workshop. Over burger and Coke, Rusty would tell him about whatever he'd learned that morning.

"You like this trade," Saul said on the fifth day.

"Yeah. It's…satisfying," Rusty replied. "And it's good to work with my hands."

He took another bite of burger, his mind full of the issue of tuning a carburettor when he suddenly saw what was going on in Saul's eyes.

"But this isn't what I want to do," he added hurriedly. "This is just an extra skill, like speaking another language. You do know that?"

Saul looked at him for a long time. "It's a hard life, Rusty. I'm not saying it's not enjoyable and I'm not saying it's not profitable. But it's not easy. It's lies and deceit and not every one in the world is going to understand it. In fact, most people are not going to understand it at all. I found Annie and I never stop thanking my lucky stars that I did. But you imagine how tough it is to find someone who gets what you do. Completely. Who supports you. Who will love you and be there for you when things aren't going your way. Who won't ask questions. Who will look out for you. Who will make the life you've chosen worth living. Without that someone, it's going to be a lonely place."

It was quite a speech and Rusty nodded slowly.

"Being a grease monkey would be better?" he wondered lightly.

"Being a grease monkey would probably be a less lonely place to be." Saul leaned forward. "I wouldn't mind. Annie and I just want you to be happy."

"I know, Saul, I know."

And he did. But the thrill of the con had been ignited within him and the world of the infinite possibility was peeking through a curtain at him and he couldn't imagine _not_ being involved. Couldn't imagine _not _seeing the angles. Couldn't imagine _not_ wanting to learn and grow in Saul's world.

Saul excused himself and as he disappeared to the bathroom, a waitress came to clear the plates away.

"Get you anything else?" she asked and Rusty heard a smokiness in her voice that made him look up at her.

She had a name badge that declared her to be Lila, a cleavage that was more on show than not, black hair worn in a bob, a lipstick that was very red and kohl-lined eyes that were full of suggestion. There was definitely some flirting going on there.

"We're good, thanks," he told her and she gave a hint of a shrug and walked away.

He surprised himself by watching her go. And when she dropped some cutlery and bent over to retrieve it, he surprised himself still further by looking longer than he should.

"You OK?" Saul asked, sliding back into his seat.

"Fine," he nodded. "Just fine."

And he went back to the garage with his mind full of black lace stocking tops.

* * *

His birthday arrived with pink milkshake and bagels and an envelope pushed his way across the breakfast table.

"It's not much," Saul warned. "Don't get excited."

The keys fell out of the envelope and into Rusty's hand and he blinked at them.

"Sam brought it round last night."

"Take him out to look, Saul," Annie's face was beaming.

The car was an old, brown convertible that had seen better days. There was a dent in the fender and there was a crack in the windshield and still it was one of the most amazing things he had ever seen.

"Saul…"

Christmas had been…this was…he had no words.

"You need to have a car. You need to learn to drive." Saul said these things as if they were obvious.

"Saul…"

There were still no words.

"We can. You can."

Annie was in the hallway as they came back in.

"Do you like it? You do like it?" She was as anxious as Rusty had been over the freesias and the book of poetry. "Sam said…"

"Sam said you could work on it together," Saul finished.

"It's…Saul, it's... Annie, I..."

There were still no words and Annie hugged him happily. He stared over her shoulder at Saul and the words could not even be expressed non-verbally.

"Anyone would think it was a new Cadillac," Saul waved a dismissive hand.

It was…Rusty gave up with the words. The past six months had been such a whirlwind of love and generosity and safety and trust and he had no context to deal with it. Nothing had prepared him for the contrast to the previous eleven months. Nothing had readied him for Saul and Annie.

* * *

Saul took him out for a run in the car – _his_ car, and how incredible did that sound in his head. The car purred but Rusty could still hear room for improvement... Sam would know exactly what to do.

"The paperwork for putting in for your test is in the glove compartment," Saul told him. "Theory side's a breeze. And I will be…surprised if you take as many goes as Annie did to pass it."

"And if I do, we can bribe the examiner, right?"

Saul chuckled.

* * *

Dinner was roast chicken and then Annie disappeared into the kitchen with an air of mystery and reappeared with an enormous chocolate cake. Thick chocolate frosting. With a candle.

Rusty's eyes were wide and he did not blink until the cake was put on the table in front of him. The smile on his face was immediate and blissful and it wasn't so much about the cake although the cake was definitely part of it.

"Happy birthday, Rusty," Annie grinned and he blew out the candle, his own smile not diminishing in the slightest.

The cake tasted as good as it looked.

* * *

The dream was a dream he enjoyed and that in itself was unusual.

He was driving in a car which changed from being Sam's Ford Mustang to the brown convertible with no rhyme or reason. He had a huge slice of chocolate cake in his hand and he bit in to the sponge and the frosting and it was as delicious as the cake was in real life and as wonderful as anything Annie made.

There was someone sitting in the passenger seat but he couldn't turn his head to check who it was and they stayed just outside of his peripheral vision although there was smoky laughter. Then out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of two legs in black stilettos and fine black nylon. One stiletto was hanging off a foot at a jaunty angle and Rusty smiled even as the car ate up the road in front of him.

* * *

A/N: And it's finished. Finally. :) Hope you enjoyed.


	15. Education

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: own no one whose name you recognise.

Chapter Fifteen: Education

* * *

It had been a tiring day. Saul had woken him with news of a phone call from Carter and a long con that was being organised for the following month.

"_He wants us to be part of the team he's putting together," Saul said._

"_For serious?"_

_Saul smiled and the air was full of pride and excitement in equal measures._

And then he'd spent the morning working on suspension cables and brake pads until Sam had made him break for lunch. Which had been unusual in itself. Normally, he didn't have to be reminded about eating. There had been too many times when eating had been all he had thought about; when hunger had consumed him; when he'd felt it gnawing at him from the inside out.

Rusty was carrying more weight now. Seven months of Annie's cooking and regular meals had seen to that. His frame was still lean but the physical work he was doing at Sam's garage was building up strength and muscle without him even noticing.

Others noticed.

Lunch had meant the diner. The diner and Lila with the hint of flirt that grew stronger every day and the tease in her eyes that deepened every time Rusty looked at them.

"_Can't I tempt you with the house special, Rusty?"_

_He'd grinned. "Not today, Lila."_

"_Pity," she'd smiled back and brought him his burger. _

He walked the short journey back to Sam's, deep in thought. There had been girls before. Long ago. An age ago. A lifetime ago. When he was thirteenfourteen and Sex Ed had taken a practical turn. There had been girls. Older girls who took an interest in boys who had just discovered them. If he thought long and hard enough about it, he could remember a time when sex had been about eagerness and exploration and excitement. Yes, he could. It was just that it had been a while. A long while. A lifetime ago. He hadn't thought about sex for pleasure since forever. But now…

The afternoon had seen him changing oil filters and swearing at wrenches that slipped. Sam had grinned and fed him strong sweet coffee and told him war stories about when he was starting out himself.

"_This Buick. I swear. When she came in, she was sagging like a dame that's let herself go. The suspension on her was tight as a drum by the time I finished. Like I given her plastic surgery or something."_

He'd finished up and Sam had insisted on taking him out for a quick lesson in his – _his_ – car. Lessons came via Sam and Saul and Rusty learned from both of them. Sam was all about the feel of the car and listening to what it said to you.

"_Hear what she's asking of you now. 'Give me some more poke' she's saying."_

Saul was all about observation and anticipation.

"_Don't look at the car ahead, look at the car ahead of that. When it looks like it's braking, you hit your brake pedal too." _

Now, he was back at the house, fitting his key in the lock, looking forward to a bath and then maybe meatloaf. He was almost certain Annie was thinking of making meatloaf. But bath first, certainly. His shoulders were aching and he was quite filthy. He'd pulled his arms out of his overalls and knotted them round his waist. His short-sleeved white T was less than white and drenched with drying sweat and he knew without looking in a mirror that there was grease plastered on his face.

Saul had had a lunch meeting in Atlantic City with one of his many contacts who was visiting. He wasn't due back till late. But Annie would be around.

Annie was in fact by the foot of the stairs clutching a tray with china and a teapot and a pile of homemade cakes. Without thinking, Rusty moved forward to take it off her.

"Thanks," Annie said distractedly. "Rusty-"

"Wow." Rusty was staring down at the cakes and then remembered himself. "You have guests, Annie. I'll make myself scarce."

"No need."

The voice came from behind him. He looked at Annie's face, at the little twisted up look that she got any time Millicent was near.

"You don't have to run away on my account, Robert. You can bring that tray right in here."

"I'm sorry," Annie said in a fierce whisper as they walked towards the lounge. "They just arrived."

_They…?_

He walked into the room and saw Beryl sitting upright and proper in one of the chairs while Millicent had taken up residence on the couch.

"Hello, Robert." The almost-purr was still in Millicent's voice.

"Hello, Mrs Rowntree."

He still had trouble believing that Millicent had been married. He hadn't really given much thought to her title other than it was probably an honorary one given to ladies over a certain age.

"Good afternoon, Robert," Beryl added.

"Good afternoon…" He suddenly realised he didn't know how to complete the sentence.

"Aunt Beryl." "Mrs Claverson."

Annie and he spoke at the same time. Millicent made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snigger. Beryl looked suitably horrified.

"Mrs Claverson," Annie said again quickly.

"Mrs Claverson," Rusty repeated.

Beryl looked at him coldly and inclined her head. "You'd better deposit that tray, young man, while the tea is still drinkable."

Rusty took the hint and placed the tray on the little table in front of the couch. He felt Millicent's eyes on him as he did so. Not, for once, on his face.

"You've forgotten the milk, Annie," Beryl announced with annoyance.

Annie shot a quick glance at Rusty and at the visitors and then practically galloped from the room.

"I heard you were working down at Sam's," Millicent went on.

"Yes. Sam's been very good to me."

"Looks like the work agrees with you," Millicent's neat little teeth were on show. "Very much so." She made a little amused noise. "You know, you remind me a little of Jack when he was younger. Don't you think, Beryl?"

Beryl snorted.

"Oh, I don't mean station in life or wealth or anything that matters. I just mean the physical. Jack was, and I'm sure Beryl won't mind me saying, a very beautiful man." Her gaze ran over his shoulders and chest and up to his face and he bit his lip as he had done every time eyes had run over him with that kind of appraising look.

Before Beryl could pass comment, Annie came back through the door with a little china milk jug and Rusty felt the atmosphere ease.

"I was just saying, Annie, what a handsome man Jack was."

Rusty glanced at Annie and the tight little expression was back on her face that had been there on Christmas Eve.

"Don't you think?" Millicent asked.

Rusty saw Annie's eyes flick to Beryl and back again to Millicent.

"He was very good-looking," Annie agreed, her voice low and hurried. She dropped her gaze.

Beryl gave a heavy sigh. "He was. My Jack was a handsome, handsome man."

There was a moment of silence full of subtexts and undercurrents that weren't ever going to be voiced. Then Beryl exclaimed, "The sugar bowl, Annie. What are you thinking?"

Annie looked back up at Millicent.

"Would you fetch it for me, please, Rusty? It's on the side."

He nodded and disappeared. The sugar cubes were in a dainty little china pot. Rusty looked down at his hands and then washed and dried them before picking it up and walking back along the hall. Millicent was waiting at the doorway.

"Annie's pouring Beryl's tea," Millicent said. "She's just managed to spill one cup into the saucer."

Rusty could imagine how happy Beryl was about that.

"Thank you." She reached out and took the little sugar bowl from him and their fingers brushed and he hoped he imagined the little thrillsome shiver running through her at the touch. "You going to come back in, baby?"

"I-"

Annie's worried face appeared at the door.

"You go and get cleaned up, dear, and you don't have to come back down again," she said firmly.

Beryl's voice called through petulantly. "I'm waiting, Annie."

Millicent pushed the sugar into Annie's hand and there was a moment where Annie looked from Millicent to Rusty and back again. Millicent showed no sign of moving.

"Annie?" Querulous. Demanding.

Annie gave a little wince of exasperation and went back to Beryl's side. Rusty stepped away and moved up the stairs, telling himself that he was ridiculous for not wanting to turn his back on Millicent. The last thing he heard, breathy and called softly after him was:

"You want me to come and scrub your back, baby, you just give me a shout."

* * *

Three times Rusty checked that the bathroom door was shut and bolted. He had no desire now to sit in a bath. He ran the shower and he stripped off and stood under the warm water, rubbing the soap up into a fierce lather.

The water ran over his body and he felt his heart rate slow and the irrational start to die down and his logic started to kick in. Millicent was unnerving, that was for certain. But she wasn't for real. He couldn't believe for one moment that she was seriously interested in him. She couldn't be. There was nearly twenty years between them. And from what Saul had said, she sounded as if she had a nice line going in finding wealthy men to marry and divorce. He was hardly going to be marriage material for her.

No, Millicent was playing, pure and simple. Teasing for reaction. The things that she said that could never be challenged. The little throwaway lines that were intended to dig under the skin. And that was what that "baby" was all about. Trying to make him uncomfortable, trying to make him blush like he was any other awkward teenager. He laughed out loud. Like that was ever going to happen.

* * *

It was later with Annie's meatloaf. The visitors had gone and Saul had arrived back earlier than expected and Rusty was sitting with a plateful of warm food and wondering why Annie was so quiet.

He'd stayed upstairs as Annie had suggested and he felt guilty about that but he had seen the insistence in Annie's eyes and he thought if he'd returned, his presence might actually have made things more awkward for Annie. He'd laid on his bed, his radio on low, his book on movie stars open beside him and he'd thought about the things that hadn't been said between Annie and Millicent. Jack. Jack Claverson. There was a story there.

Saul was in a happy mood, full of little anecdotes that had been stirred up with lunch and the meeting, but even he realised after a while that he was the only one speaking.

"OK, what happened?" he asked, looking at Annie. "And don't tell me the goldfish died."

Annie smiled in spite of herself. "We don't have a goldfish."

Saul shrugged. "That's why you shouldn't tell me it died." He looked at her keenly. "Millicent come calling?"

"Yes. With Beryl. Invited themselves round for tea."

Saul's mouth twisted up. He reached over and took her hand. "You OK?" he asked softly. "Tell me."

"Maybe I should-" Rusty made to stand up and Annie waved him down into his seat again fiercely.

"It's nothing." She sighed. "Millicent mentioned Jack."

"In front of Beryl."

"Beryl and me. And Rusty." Annie frowned and looked at Rusty. "I was out getting the milk. How _did_ Jack come up in conversation?"

Awkwardly, Rusty said, "Millicent said I reminded her of him."

Saul and Annie looked at each other and there were several things being said but not out loud. Before anyone could speak again, the phone rang.

"I'll get it," Annie offered and disappeared into the hall.

"You want to tell me about Jack?" Rusty asked Saul none too hopefully. He seemed to be the only one who wasn't getting the full picture.

Saul was silent for a moment and then he began.

"I met Jack. Knew him for a few years before he keeled over from a heart attack. He wasn't a bad man. He was good enough to give Annie a little job at one point. He seemed happy enough with Beryl and she with him."

Saul sat back on his chair.

"Jack Claverson was a good-looking, rich boy with charisma and a hard business head on him. He was bright and breezy and had most girls in love with him and most guys jealous of him. He was considered quite a catch. Before my time but I believe Millicent set her hat at him. Quite demonstrably."

"Was he one of her husbands?"

"No. No, Jack liked the attention from Millicent, from any of the girls, but he didn't really date. There were only a handful of girls that he took out more than once." Saul was silent for a moment and then added, "He dated Annie for a little while."

"Annie?" Rusty couldn't keep the shock out of his voice and Saul guffawed.

"You think she didn't have a life before me? You think the prettiest, warmest, nicest girl in town didn't have a string of men who wanted to take her out?"

"No. Yes. No. I mean I can't imagine Annie with anyone else. She really dated her sister's husband?"

"Hmm. Well, it does sound a little strange when you put it like that." Saul smiled. "As it happens, they went out three times and that was it. Annie broke it off."

Rusty digested the information. "So, he moved in on Beryl."

"Not immediately. A little time passed. He left town for a bit. Came back under a bit of a cloud, I think. Took up with Beryl and it all became very happy ever after."

"Still. Beryl…"

"Yes, Beryl. She must have had some redeeming features. I know it's hard to imagine what."

Rusty tried to picture Beryl younger and more carefree. He had trouble doing so. And Beryl dating and marrying a man who sounded the life and soul of the party… It seemed less likely than anyone walking Millicent down the aisle.

"So what is it with Millicent?"

Saul pulled a face. "I don't know. No one knows. But the rumour is that Millicent and Jack were having an affair."

"Really?"

Saul shrugged. "It only came out after Jack died. He's not around to deny it and no one is ever going to ask Millicent."

"So when Millicent makes these comments about Jack…"

"Beryl, I think, has no idea. Millicent says things to wind Annie up. It's all a bit double-edged. As everything is with Millicent."

Annie walked back into the room and her expression was unexpectedly full of sunshine.

"That was Lucy. She's invited me to go and stay with her for the weekend."

"I hope you said yes," Saul beamed.

"I…of course I did." Annie laughed. Her eyes were shining. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

That night, Annie lay in Saul's arms and stared at the ceiling.

"What?" he muttered, his eyes closed.

"Millicent," she said eventually. "And Rusty."

Saul opened his eyes. "You worried? You think she..."

"I...I don't know. I mean there was Christmas at Beryl's and New Year here and today... today I didn't want to leave him alone with her...oh, but, Saul, she's old enough to be his mother! She can't mean any of it. It's just that she looks at him..."

"Yes," Saul said quietly. "I know. I've seen it." He held her closer. "You know what I think?"

Annie looked at him with troubled eyes.

"I think she's doing it to get a reaction out of you. I think she can see that you care for him and that is all the incentive Millicent needs to try and hurt. Rusty's just caught up in the middle of it."

"But that's awful!"

Saul shrugged. "That's Millicent."

"But we need to...I need to..."

"Listen. Rusty isn't some wet behind the ears teenager who's going to stammer and blush and make a fool of himself. Millicent might work that out eventually. He's been through so much worse than Millicent. He can take care of himself."

Annie sighed heavily. "That's not going to make me feel any easier about it."

"I know." Saul pressed his lips to her forehead. "Me either."

* * *

Annie left on the Greyhound on Friday morning. They waved her off with instructions about food that she had prepared in advance and emergency phone numbers to call ringing in their ears.

"She worries too much," Saul declared and Rusty smiled. Because when he had spent those two days away with Saul in Detroit City, he had heard Saul call Annie twice a night to make sure she was alright. The need to check and know and be reassured. It was part of what Saul and Annie were about.

* * *

That evening, after a dish of Annie's lasagne, Rusty was stretched out on the couch in the lounge, half-watching the game show on the television, half-listening to Saul rustling his newspaper and mostly thinking about a pair of scarlet lips.

The bottle of whisky arriving on the table beside him was enough to banish the daydream. He sat up and saw Saul standing with an apologetic face.

"What is it?"

"Pick up the whisky and come on through to the dining room. There's something we need to do."

Bemused, he did as he was told. He sat down opposite Saul who took the whisky off him and poured a glass and then produced a pack of cards.

"Do you trust me, Rusty?" Saul asked quietly.

Rusty looked at the man who had changed his life; who had taken him away from pain and misery and degradation and who had opened his home to him; who had given him so very much more than Rusty felt he deserved. And by now, Rusty was certain that Saul had no ulterior motives. The days when he thought he did seemed far away and laughable. Saul was for real. This much, Rusty knew.

"Yes," he said simply and openly and saw some inexplicable tension lift away from Saul's shoulders.

"Good. Because I am about to ruin your liver. Annie would kill me."

Rusty stared at him uncomprehendingly and Saul sighed.

"When you're out on the con with cards, with the mark, you need to be able to handle your drink. You can be the greatest card sharp in the world but if you pass out at the table, no one's ever going to know. Have you ever got drunk before?"

He had. Blind drunk a few times with school friends. First time when he was twelve. Swigging vodka and vomiting. And sitting at a desk with a hangover the size of Texas the next day. First time when he was twelve and the last time…

"It's been a while," Rusty said.

* * *

_The first few nights on the street were frightening. Everything he'd imagined they would be. He's stumbled from one bad situation to the next and just because he's managed to hide or punch and run, it hasn't stopped him seeing the rawness of it all. The danger. The way the atmosphere can move from friendly to deadly in a matter of seconds. _

_For one long moment, he thinks about going back. He thinks about retracing his steps – and he's run far and wide – and knocking on the door and seeing it opened by cold-eyed indifference. Although considering the money burning a hole in his pocket, there might be something more than indifference on show. No. No, he made his mind up and he knows escape was the right answer. It's just what he's escaped to that's the question._

_There is a piece of wasteground and a fire burning in between the heaps of scrap and rubbish and a man is hunched over, cooking something. The wind blows in the right direction: it smells delicious._

_The smell draws him closer. He sidles round the cover of the debris and his mouth waters. Sausages. He has money to buy a meal. He should go and buy a meal. He will go and buy-_

"_Hey." The man has spotted him. Peering into the dark shadows, the man has seen him. Damn but he must work harder to remain invisible._

"_Hey," the man calls again. There is an accent. Deep voiced and bluff and friendly. "Hey, you can come out. I won't hurt you."_

_Rusty stays where he is._

"_My name is Andrei," the man says. "Andrei Ivan Koroschinski__. Ukranian. I won't hurt you, little one. I am not one to hurt innocents."_

_Rusty listens to the voice and there is pride in the heritage and there is truth in the words. The man sounds genuine. _

"_Here." Andrei fishes into a carrier bag at his side and produces a bread roll. "You want hot dog?"_

_A sausage is lifted out of the little pan into the bread and he shrinks back as Andrei gets to his feet. Andrei is a bear of a man: shaggy hair, shaggy beard, shaggy coat. Andrei and the hot dog walk around the fire and place the hot dog onto a smooth rock. Then Andrei retreats back to his original position._

_He can get it. He can grab the food and be away and running before Andrei can move again. He can… Andrei is cooking the rest of the sausages in silence. _

_Hesitantly, Rusty moves forward to the gift of food._

"_There you are," Andrei beams. "Help yourself. Though I have no ketchup. I apologise."_

"_Thank you." He snatches up the hot dog and bites into it._

"_I tell truth about not hurting. I like company. Please sit. I like to tell you about my home."_

_There is wistfulness and loneliness and Rusty decides he can listen. If the price of the food is to spend some time listening, he can do that. He can still run if he needs to. He sits down and Andrei looks so happy._

"_I come to America five years ago. Big mistake. Nothing here is like my home. All concrete and empty… Let me tell you about my home…"_

* * *

_The fire continues to burn and Andrei has produced vodka. The strong stuff. Stronger than Rusty has ever tasted. He sits and helps Andrei finish the sausages and – wonder of wonders – a block of Hershey's and he drinks the vodka. After you get used to the feeling of raw alcohol stripping the lining of your throat away, it is really rather good._

_Andrei is full of eager explanation about the beauty of his home town in the mountains and his love for his three little brothers and his desire to earn a passage back to the Ukraine._

_Rusty drinks the vodka and nods and listens to the pictures painted. Andrei and the stories continue. And so does the drinking. _

_When Rusty wakes, it is nearly dawn and the fire is out. His head is muzzy and throbbing and his mouth is decidedly furry. Even though the fire is out, he is warm and even as he acknowledges the fact, he realises why. Snoring loudly, his arm flung round Rusty, cuddling him close, is Andrei. _

* * *

_Wide awake now, Rusty searches his memory. The last thing he can remember is Andrei crying and he'd watched him, wanting to say something but not knowing what. And then Andrei had looked up through his tears, face full of misery, and Rusty had… Rusty had reached over and squeezed his arm and Andrei had grabbed him to him and hugged him tightly. _

_The embrace had not been threatening. There was nothing else going on. This was a lonely man far from home who had been moved to tears by recollection and who wanted some comfort from his listener. Andrei had held him and patted his back and whispered words of his native language that Rusty did not have a hope of understanding. His head heavy with drink, his last thought before his eyes had closed was that Andrei thought he was one of his little brothers._

_Now, though, he needed to move. _

_With difficulty, he extricated himself from Andrei and stood up. Andrei continued to snore. Rusty stared down at him. This could all have been so much worse and he was stupid to have let himself get drunk. That wouldn't be happening again._

* * *

It is simple. He drinks the shot of whisky and then Saul calls the hands and he deals them, face up. It is simple. And for a while, it remained so. And then…

"Four twos, a heart flush, a spade flush, tens over sixes."

Rusty blinked. The pack of cards felt heavy and uncooperative. His fingers knew – they should know – where to find the cards. He swallowed and concentrated and started to deal.

He made two passes round the table and then his stomach rebelled and he galloped for the kitchen sink and threw up. Saul was at his side quickly with a glass of water.

"How'd I do?" he asked when he could.

Saul held up the whisky bottle. Rusty'd made significant progress through it.

"Good," Saul approved. "You held on to control for a long time. But your technique started slipping five hands ago."

"It did?" Saul was looking blurry and Rusty blinked hard.

"Yeah." Saul stared at him. "We'll leave this for tonight."

"Aw, Saul…"

"Aw, nothing. Drink more water and then let's get you to bed."

Still feebly protesting, Rusty felt Saul drag his arm around his shoulders and help support him all the way to his bedroom. Once upon a time, he might have had a problem with that: right now, he was grateful. Rusty sank down on to his bed and Saul pulled his shoes off.

"Sleep well," Rusty heard but by that time, his eyes were closed and he was away.

* * *

Rusty woke without opening his eyes. His head was insisting he do something about the thudding that was occupying it. He squinted an eye open and shut it again fast. He was almost certain the room shouldn't be that fuzzy.

With a groan, he forced himself upright, his eyes still shut. Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to look at the world again. It still hurt but he made himself stare it down. Gradually, it became a shade less painful.

Now all he had to do was stand upright.

Saul was in the kitchen. He took one look at Rusty and grimaced.

"You look-"

"Oh, I feel," Rusty agreed earnestly.

Saul was silent for a moment and Rusty could see hesitation and a desire not to hurt.

"We're still doing this," he said in a rush.

Saul nodded gloomily. "Yes. We are. It doesn't mean I have to be pleased or proud of it."

He took another look at Rusty who was doing his best not to sway. "Go and sit down. I'll bring you a patented hangover cure. And then we can start on other lessons."

* * *

The concoction that Saul produced had looked dubious in the extreme. Rusty drank it nonetheless and Saul gave it twenty minutes or so and brought dry toast and hot, sweet tea and Rusty was prepared to admit that he felt much more human.

"Right," Saul said. "Let me show you how to hide yourself."

Rusty stared at him, the fading hangover making him half a beat slower than he should be. And then he realised.

"Disguises?" he asked with delight.

Saul grinned. "Disguises."

The bedroom that doubled as Saul's character wardrobe had a dressing table with a mirror surrounded by big bulbous lights. Just like an actor's.

"Got this from an old theatre that was closing down," Saul said fondly. "They were going to throw it away and I just snatched it up."

He gestured to Rusty to sit down in the seat and he himself drew up another chair and sat behind him. Rusty ran an eye over the stage make-up.

"No mascara?"

"No make-up," Saul said. "Not for the first lesson. The first lesson is all about understanding who you want to be. Who is your character? How does he speak? What is his background? You need to feel him. You need to know him. And when you do, you will live him. Let me show you. Give me a minute."

Saul closed his eyes and when he opened them again, his face changed subtly. One brow was drawn down and he half-squinted through that eye. His mouth was tight and his head was tilted on one side.

"Brewster Maynard, at your service." The words were delivered in pure Bronx, hard and fast.

"Brewster," Rusty acknowledged.

"What the hell d'ya mean by that?" Brewster's chin thrust forward pugnaciously. "You think my name's funny?"

"No, no," Rusty assured him. "I was just being-"

"You were just taking liberties is what you were doin'. You want to think twice before you do that to Brewster Maynard."

After Brewster, came Dashiell Pearce, a slowly drawling Southern gentleman whose eyelids drooped and who looked up at you from under them languorously as if he were having difficulty remembering who you were. And then a Mid-West farmer named Thomas Whittaker who was humble and sincere and who wrung his hands together and Rusty could _see_ the cloth cap that wasn't there.

And then Saul was Saul again.

"That was…that was brilliant," Rusty told him earnestly. "You are amazing, Saul."

Saul shrugged modestly. "Remember, it starts with understanding your character. You want to have a try?"

Rusty had a couple of false starts and then he discovered Andrew Wentworth, a serious young law student who lived in fear of one of the partners and whose eyes were wide and for whom apprehension was a permanent expression.

"Well done," Saul said quietly. "You want to go for another?"

Bill Yates was an Irish drifter, full of brogue and charm and trusting to a wink and a smile to get by in life. Woody Lawrence was a put-upon shop assistant, permanently harried, forever shaking his head and tutting to himself. Arturo Scolaro aka The Fox was a gang member, flashing bare teeth and oozing unblinking menace.

He was dimly aware that Saul hadn't said anything for a full five minutes. Rusty's face fell.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Saul shook his head. "You did everything right. You have such a natural touch."

Rusty flushed with pleasure. The praise was still a novelty. It made him feel wonderful.

* * *

That night, the whisky and the cards came out again.

"I know where you got to last night before you went," Saul said. "But tonight, you need to pick a character and stay in character while you drink. It's not as easy as it sounds. And unless you're going to play a teetotaller, it's necessary."

Stewart Blakeney, whose uncle worked in the city and who was in town for a few days to drink and gamble, managed to drink and gamble for quite some time before Saul held up a hand.

"Your diction is slipping and your fingers are slipping on the cards. You're starting to go. Can you feel it?"

Rusty licked his lips. "Yeah."

He closed his eyes and drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. When he opened them again, the whisky was gone from the table.

"Aren't we carrying on?"

Saul smiled. "The aim is not to get you drunk every night. The aim is to build up your tolerance slowly and for you to recognise the signs when you are starting to lose it. Come on. Hot drink. TV. Relax."

* * *

Sunday saw a morning spent on accents and listening to patterns of speech on the radio and the television and then copying them.

"You create a character with your body and your voice and most of all, with your belief," Saul told him. "You believe in that character, then you sell that character. And it's not about being believable necessarily. You can tell the biggest lie in the book. Sometimes that helps. People don't want to challenge you because they can't believe you'd lie like that. Some of the biggest con artists in history have got away with blue murder because people don't want to call them on it. People help con themselves. Anyway. Accents..."

The afternoon was spent walking down to Sam's and collecting Rusty's car from round the back and then driving. Rusty felt he could have driven for hours.

"Good," said Saul, when Rusty parked the car outside the house. "You're coming along well. Keep it up and I think you could put in for your test in a month or so."

Rusty couldn't stop the grin. He could almost taste the freedom and independence.

* * *

Annie returned on the Sunday night, full of tales of Colorado and Lucy and fun. They had cooked her dinner and she had smiled happily and not said too much about carrots that were slightly underdone nor steaks that were maybe a shade on the cremated side.

"Lucy coming on a return visit?" Saul asked and Annie nodded.

"In a couple of months," she said happily.

Rusty paused, fork full of steak halfway to his mouth. There were four bedrooms and two were actual bedrooms and he was in one of them. Annie looked up and saw him hesitating and frowned.

"What is it?"

"Lucy…do you want me to move out of my room-"

"No, no," Annie laughed. "Her grandparents are next door, remember? She'll stay with Hilary and Bert."

"Oh," Rusty said and was surprised by the relief he felt.

"Rusty, dear," and the smile was slipping away from Annie's face to be replaced by the earnest, "this is your home now. For now and for as long as you want it to be. No one and nothing is ever going to change that."

Home. Home. Rusty gripped his knife and fork and studied the pattern on the china plate in front of him as the sense of belonging flooded through him. When he thought he had the emotion locked down, he raised his eyes. Annie was blinking back tears and Saul was smiling and Rusty felt both reactions making their way through him.

"Dessert," Saul said firmly and Rusty knew he was covering the moment. "We need dessert."

Rusty pushed his plate away and nodded. He definitely did.


	16. Dreams and Schemes

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: own nothing of an Ocean's nature.

Chapter Sixteen: Dreams and Schemes

* * *

The engine was proving intractable. The problem lay with the points, Rusty was almost certain. Some fine adjustment to ensure that the ignition turned over and the spark leapt across and the engine caught. Trouble was, he hadn't managed to sort out exactly how fine that adjustment needed to be.

Sam would know. Sam would know at once. Sam was not around. He'd gone out with his tow truck to pick up a stranded vehicle and Rusty was left with the problematic car. He sat in the driver's seat and tried to turn the engine over again. Nothing. He wandered back to the open hood and bent over the engine, deep in thought.

"You do know it's lunchtime, don't you?"

Rusty jerked upright, narrowly avoiding banging his head on the hood. Lila was stood in the doorway of the workshop, bag in one hand, bottle of Coke in the other.

"It's ten-thirty in the morning," he pointed out.

Lila smiled. "Has to be lunchtime somewhere, right? Anyway, I have my break now, not later."

She swayed into the room and across to the car till she stood in front of Rusty, weight on one hip.

"Where do you want it?" she asked and Rusty thought he had just discovered what sultry really meant.

_Lila was…Lila was…Lila… _The part of his brain that wasn't swamped with spicy perfume, full red lips, eyes that knew what they wanted, a figure that knew how to hold itself…the admittedly small part of his brain that was busy having a stern word with his senses took it upon itself to answer.

"Lunch. Thank you. I'd like it over there on the table at the side, if that's alright."

Lila smiled and turned and sashayed over to the table and Rusty watched, mesmerised by long legs and rhythm. The thought came to him that Jack Lemmon had called it right.

She put the food and drink down and sauntered back to his side.

"So what'you doing?" she asked, standing close, so close that they were nearly touching, so close that they might as well be touching, so close that there was electricity sparking across them in the very way that it wasn't happening with the points.

"You really want to know?"

"Sure I do."

"Alright." Rusty bent over the engine and Lila did the same.

"Careful," he warned, "it gets dirty under here."

Lila's grin sent his brain into overdrive and he ran a hand over his mouth to buy himself time.

"The car won't fire up. So what I need to do is adjust the points so that they spark up and the ignition catches."

"Wow," Lila said softly and her eyes were not on the engine parts, they were on him. Her eyes were on his and they were dark and deep and seductive and they weren't touching, there was no contact, there was air between them… But there was also heat and there was intimacy and there was something that was making his blood quicken and his heart race and Lila's face filled his vision…

He heard himself say with an immense amount of effort, "The issue here is all about the timing".

"Rusty?"

Rusty shot upright and smacked his head on the hood.

"Ah!" he winced and Lila let out a throaty giggle.

"You OK, Rusty?" This time it was Saul in the doorway.

"Fine, fine." He rubbed his head and sighed inwardly at the complete loss of any cool image.

Lila was already walking away.

"Do I owe you anything? For lunch?" he called after her.

She turned on her heel and flashed him a smile. "I'll think of something." Then she turned and nodded at Saul. "Mr Bloom."

Saul raised the hat he was wearing. "Lila."

She left and Saul made his way to Rusty.

"You having your food delivered now?" he asked, nodding at the table.

Rusty gave a shrug and didn't answer.

"Sam not around?"

"Gone off to rescue a car in distress."

"Good," Saul said. "I wanted to talk to you. Carter called. The job has been brought forward. We leave tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Rusty couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "But I…I need to tell Sam and… How long do you think we're going to be?"

"Length of the job hasn't changed," Saul said. "Still two weeks."

"OK…two weeks."

A grin formed on Rusty's face. He couldn't help it. He knew nothing about the con but already the thrill was running through him.

* * *

Annie had cooked chicken and fries. Crispy chicken. Big, fat homemade fries. Rusty sighed happily as the food arrived and again as he put his knife and fork down on his clean plate and the smile twitched up on to Annie's face.

"I swear," Saul said, as he pushed the empty plate away from him, "that you cook like this the night before I go away just to make sure that I come back to you."

"You only just worked that out?" Annie laughed, standing up and taking the dirty crockery out to the kitchen.

Saul watched her go. "As if I needed a reason," he murmured to himself and then shook himself and turned to Rusty. "You all set?"

Rusty nodded. He'd told Sam and he'd packed a holdall. "I'm ready."

"Good." Saul smiled. His face grew serious. "That's what I told Carter."

* * *

It was another dream he didn't want to wake up from.

_He was in the garage workshop and Lila was there._

"_Where do you want it?" she asked and the temperature soared._

"_I'd like it over there on the table," he murmured and then she was taking him by the hand and leading him over to the table and her hands were reaching under the overalls running over his shoulders and gripping the material of the white T and pulling him closer and closer and her mouth was parted slightly and her eyes were barely open and…and…_

He woke with a start, heart pounding. He stared up at the ceiling and licked his lips and swallowed hard. Then with sudden realisation, he looked down at himself and blinked. Well, that hadn't happened in a very long time.

Shower. Cold shower. Very, very cold shower.

* * *

Carter Pryce, known to all who knew him by his first name only, had called the meeting in Washington and Rusty found himself, more nervous than he would admit to, sitting in his blue silk shirt and suit in a boardroom of a modern office, Saul at his side. Opposite were three men he didn't know. One was older than Saul, sandy haired with little half-moon spectacles, dressed neatly in a three piece suit with a green bow tie. The other two men were in their thirties. One with a blond crew cut and blue eyes, immaculate in suit and tie. By his side and by contrast, was a dark-haired man with a worldweary expression, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved denim shirt.

Carter stood at the head of the table and ran a hand over his moustache and nodded.

"Alright, gentlemen. Most of you know each other. Quick runround the table."

Half-moon spectacles was introduced as Wilson Yeats, accomplished forger. The blond was Stevie Mitchell, a main player of the long con. The other was responsible for technical and munitions, Rod Herrick.

"Saul Bloom, you all know," Carter said and the others nodded. "And this young man is Rusty Ryan."

Rusty nodded round the table.

"First job, kid?" Rod asked, his voice deep and curious.

"Yeah."

Rod nodded. "We all got to start somewhere."

The mark was a senator, Moss Levene, whose fascination was the Second World War and who believed in life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and taking back-handers.

"Cut him open and corruption pours out," Carter said. "He's ripe for a set up."

The con itself centred on a small pencil drawing that might be attributed to one Adolf Hitler, sometime artist and political dictator. It would actually be the work of Wilson and it would be sold by Stevie, purveyor of rare antiquities and verified by Saul, art historian. Rod would run the technical set up. Carter would co-ordinate. Rusty listened to the plan unfold and marvelled at the simplicity and the confidence and the professional skills employed. Then it dawned on him at exactly the same time as Carter said, "Any questions". He half-raised his hand and Carter smiled.

"Rusty?"

"What – er…" he hesitated and glanced at Saul next to him who smiled encouragingly. "What do you want me to do? Sir," he added as an afterthought.

"Sir…" Rod shook his head and laughed and Rusty saw Stevie hide a smile.

"Nothing wrong with manners, Rod," Carter chided. "Well, Rusty, I want you to start by calling me Carter. OK?"

"OK. Carter."

"And your next task is to tail Levene. I want to know every last detail of his movements. We have a week before Wilson finishes the piece. I want you to spend that time building up a picture of what Levene does. Where he goes. Whom he sleeps with. Where he drinks. Information, Rusty. It's ammunition."

* * *

Back in the hotel room, he sat with Saul and two beers and two burgers.

"Wilson's been around forever," Saul said in between bites. "He's quite brilliant. Wonder what we're going to do when he decides to retire or his eyesight finally goes. Skilled forgers need to be treasured."

"What about the other two?"

"Worked with them both last November. Stevie's been on board with Carter for about a year. Last November was Rod's first job with Carter. He did good."

Saul's eyes were on him.

"You OK? I mean with the detail he handed you?"

"Yeah," Rusty smiled. "Needs doing, right?"

* * *

It was three days later and Rusty's eyes and feet ached. He had trailed Levene over town and he'd slipped into the background and stayed invisible and he'd picked up the pattern of the man. Timings were approximately exact: Levene didn't run like clockwork but his arrivals and departures fell within a certain tolerance. Rusty had him down pat.

He watched him for another two days and then he briefed the others, his voice calm and steady and his words to the point.

"Not bad, kid," Rod said grudgingly.

"You did well," Stevie said quietly and Carter nodded and Rusty felt Saul smiling at his side.

"Yes, you did," Carter agreed. He looked round the table. "Gentlemen, let's make this happen."

* * *

Rusty sat on the sidelines as the rest of the job unfolded, spending most of his time in the boardroom where Rod had set up electronic equipment, eating potato chips and drinking Coke and listening to the soundtrack of the con.

Wilson had delivered a black and white pencil sketch that was admired and approved and Stevie had taken it and swung into action, smooth and elegant and convincing. Levene was suitably entranced. Rusty had heard Stevie, showing and teasing and pulling back until Levene was demanding and begging and would swear in court that buying the drawing had all been his idea.

This was the third night since Stevie had made contact and Saul was now up. It was a pivotal meeting. Saul's word would encourage Levene to part with a substantial sum of money. Carter was waiting round the corner from the classy hotel in case a distraction was needed. Rod was busy tuning out static and making sure that Carter could follow the action. Rusty's full attention was on Stevie and Saul.

As he listened intently, Stevie and Saul hooked Levene and reeled him in. It was all about the soft and the slow and the irresistible and clever words that lured and enticed and Levene was dancing after Saul and Stevie like a rat after the Pied Piper. It was a masterclass in how to lead and misdirect and Rusty was fascinated.

After a while, he felt Rod watching him and he turned his head to see curiosity playing across Rod's face.

"What is it?" Rusty asked.

Rod pushed his headphones down from his ears.

"Where'd Saul find you?" Rod asked and it wasn't rhetorical.

Rusty blinked at him. Words rose to his lips and died.

"I mean you're good, kid. I happened to catch sight of you following Levene last week. I was watching you when you weren't looking. You were like a ghost. Like you were there but not there at all. Like you'd taken yourself away. I just wondered where you learned your trade. Just wondered what streets you worked."

He heard the words and he was almost certain there was no other meaning to the words but he couldn't answer, he really couldn't answer. He continued to stare stupidly at Rod.

"Come on," Rod leant over and grinned. "Tailing someone? It can be a dirty, thankless job. Not many people are that skilled and you're a novice. Who'd you sell your soul to to learn how to disappear like that?"

It meant nothing. It meant absolutely nothing. But Rod was waiting for an answer.

"Saul's…Saul and I met…"

Carter's voice crackled over the radio and Rod replaced his headphones in a hurry while Rusty breathed a sigh of relief.

"Levene's leaving. Looks like-"

Stevie's voice cut in, soft and clear, "He's gone to get the cash. Two days early."

"Excellent!" Rod laughed and looked over delightedly at Rusty who gave a cautious grin.

Rusty stood up. He wanted to get out of the room before Rod took it upon himself to ask any more awkward questions.

"I'm going to grab another Coke," he said and Rod waved him away, his attention fully on the final act of the con.

When he walked back into the boardroom, Saul had returned and so had Stevie and Carter. Sitting on the table were neat little bundles of cash.

"There you are," Carter smiled. "We thought we'd lost you."

"Saul was going to send out a search party," Stevie added.

"You OK?" Saul asked and Rusty smiled.

"Sure."

Carter pushed a wedge of money towards each of them.

"After expenses, nearly three thousand each, gentlemen. Congratulations."

Rusty couldn't keep the surprise and shock off his face. Rod laughed.

"Not enough for you, kid?" He grinned round at the others. "We have to try harder next time."

Carter chuckled. "We will."

Rusty picked up one of the bundles of cash in wonder. He looked over at Saul who nodded. It was all his. He swallowed.

"Right, gentlemen. I'm sure we all have homes to go to." Carter was business-like. "Till next time."

* * *

The money sat like hot coals in his pocket all the way home. Rusty had never seen that much cash before. He couldn't say he'd even imagined that much cash before. And he'd been treated like an equal partner in the proceedings. That had been…unexpected.

"_Carter's rules," Saul had said when he'd hesitantly mentioned it on the way to the airport. "Everyone is equal. Equal shares. Specialists like Wilson will always command their own fees but the rest of us work for the common good. No pecking order."  
_

"_But all I did was…I didn't do anything, Saul."_

"_You did enough," Saul assured him. "We needed the information you gave us. You earned it, Rusty."_

Money. So much of it. And he had a plan.

* * *

It was early morning. For once, he was up before Saul and Annie. He left a scribbled note saying he would be back later and then he was out of the house and moving.

The bus journey was long and involved two changes and he was hungry and thirsty by the time he arrived in the city. Rusty walked into the first restaurant he saw and sat down and ordered lunch. The waitress started to look down her nose at his jeans and T and leather jacket but he flashed enough notes that would do nicely.

He picked sausages off the menu and then chocolate mousse and tried not to make an unfair comparison. And that made him think of Annie and Saul and there was a pang of guilt that he had gone behind their back. But he'd had to. This was something he had to do by himself.

The streets were the usual. Double-layered. Those going about their business who never saw or chose never to see the grime and the sordid and the misery. The clean-living. The heads-down and the couldn't be bothered: those who walked through the dust and the dirt and who went home and brushed off the debris that clung and who never noticed that each day a little bit of the filth sank into their pores.

Rusty embraced invisibility, slipping through the back streets and skirting round the edge of his usual haunts. There was one man he did not feel up to seeing again even from a distance. Just the thought of glimpsing MacAvoy made him feel sick.

There were new boys around that he didn't recognise and he supposed that was not surprising. There were always runaways and there were always people like MacAvoy. They were easy for him to spot. Their eyes were dead and they had an aura of the inevitable and the miserable and Rusty kept eye contact to the briefest of moments. Even so, he saw one or two of the boys catch him looking. Saw their eyes shift and the pout start to appear and he'd drawn a deep breath and hurried past before their opening lines could fall from their mouths.

And now, Rusty walked slowly down by the docks, looking and wondering if he was going to find whom he was looking for. There were no guarantees: he could have left…he could have…yeah. Any number of could haves. And then Rusty saw him, leaning up against a wall.

"Marvin!"

Marvin glanced round and saw Rusty and a grin appeared.

"Rusty…where you been, man?"

Rusty strolled up and Marvin stuck his hand out. A complicated handshake ensued that Marvin created and Rusty just about followed.

"Let me buy you a meal," Rusty offered.

They ended up in a diner, not _the_ diner, but a diner. Marvin shovelled fries and burger away and Rusty sipped milkshake and ate fries and watched him.

"Man, that was good!" Marvin smiled and pushed his chair back. He looked at Rusty speculatively. "So. What you do, Rusty? Rob a bank?"

He laughed and Rusty laughed with him.

"Came into some money," Rusty said lightly. "Thought I might share."

Marvin's eyes acquired a gleam. "With me?"

"With you," Rusty said quietly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of notes. He put it on the table in front of a wide-eyed Marvin whose hands were on it immediately.

"It's a thousand dollars, Marvin," Rusty said gently. "I want you to take it and make it count."

Marvin was nodding. "I will, Rusty, I will," he promised. "God bless you, I will."

There was a glibness that Rusty wanted to challenge. Marvin was smiling and his eyes were darting towards the door and back to Rusty and Rusty knew how _that _felt but even so...

"I don't want…I'm not going to…Marvin, I just…"

"Sure, Rusty, sure," Marvin cut him off. "Whatever."

Rusty looked at him dubiously and tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Do you want dessert?"

"No, Rusty, that's OK. I have someone to see. Thank you so much. You're amazing, man. Thank you."

And Marvin was up and gone and Rusty watched him go and wished he felt better about the fact.

* * *

Rusty had eaten cherry pie though he wasn't that hungry. He'd had another milkshake. He had walked down the road and into a bar where the barman was happy enough to take the money and forget about checking ID and bought himself a whisky. He needed a drink.

There was nothing else he could do. He couldn't make Marvin do what he wanted him to do. He could only hope that he would.

It was by chance that he saw Marvin again. He was on his way back to the bus station and he spotted the familiar form sitting up against the wall. And he hesitated. Marvin was his own man. He wasn't Rusty's responsibility.

* * *

Annie was there when he opened the door and there was so much relief on her face that the guilt rushed through Rusty.

"Oh, oh…oh, Rusty. Oh, have you eaten? Where have you been? Oh, Rusty!"

Saul appeared behind her and Rusty saw the paleness on his face and the guilt redoubled.

"You OK, son?" Saul asked in a careful tone.

Rusty gave a sickly nod and he knew Saul was seeing the wildness that was only a little way beneath the surface.

"Annie, go and fix a sandwich, would you? Rusty and I are going to be in the lounge."

Saul got him seated on the couch with a whisky in his hand and unprotesting, he sipped and swallowed.

"Tell me," Saul said, sitting beside him and his tone was gentle and absolutely impossible to refuse.

"I went back," Rusty whispered. "I went back."

Saul exhaled and there was a long pause. "And?"

"There was a boy called Marvin. He and I…we weren't friends. But…" Rusty squeezed his eyes shut and open. "Saul, I wanted to help him. Like you helped…like you."

"You found him?"

"Found him. Gave him money." Rusty paused. "Found him again."

Saul frowned, uncomprehending.

"Found him all the money gone and high."

"_Rusty! Man…man…" Marvin's eyes rolling back in his head. Marvin's head lolling on his shoulders. Rusty had felt like crying._

He didn't know he was crying until Saul handed him a handkerchief.

"Why?" Rusty wiped his eyes. "Why, Saul?"

Saul sighed and put his hand on Rusty's shoulder.

"There isn't always a happy ending, son. However much we want one."

No happy endings guaranteed. Nothing to be taken for granted. Only hope and desire to make it so. He looked up at Saul.

"I had to try," Rusty whispered.

"I know," Saul said gently. "I know. You would."

* * *

A/N: The Jack Lemmon? From "Some Like It Hot". Amazing film.


	17. Lila

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: Rusty and Saul, so not mine.

A/N: er…a little bit steamy in places. And I don't mean that Annie's extractor fan isn't working.

Chapter Seventeen: Lila

* * *

Blushing, Annie did a twirl in the hall, her emerald green velvet dress flaring out slightly as she did so.

"Beautiful," Saul told her and he elbowed Rusty, "wouldn't you say?"

"You look lovely, Annie," Rusty agreed with a smile. He looked at Saul scrubbed up in a suit. "So do you, Saul," he added lightly and grinned at the look he got by way of response.

It was May, it was early afternoon and Saul and Annie were headed in to NYC: the ballet was in town and Annie was clutching the tickets Saul had given her at Christmas as if they were as golden as the little brooch pinned to her dress.

The brooch had come from Rusty. He had tried in vain to get Saul to take some part of the cash haul from Carter.

"_You already give us half of what Sam pays you, Rusty, and that's more than plenty."_

"_But, Saul, I want to. You and Annie-"_

"_No, Robert." And that was definite. "The money is yours."  
_

He'd figured that if it was his then it was up to him what he did with it and he'd thought immediately of what to do with it that Saul could have no objection to.

The little brooch had caught his eye in the shop window because it was abstract and wavy and yet definite and edged. Annie had loved it and he'd let her think he'd spent a fraction of what he had on it. Saul's eyes had told him he was not playing fair; Rusty had simply smiled.

Now he was stood listening to Annie run through a list of last minute things that he already knew.

"I've left you a cold meat salad, Rusty, and there's blackcurrant pie and cream. And Marty's phone number is by the phone and-"

"Annie. I will be fine. Please go and enjoy yourselves."

"We'll be back late. Probably more like early tomorrow," Saul said, helping Annie into her coat. "Lock up after us and don't wait up."

Rusty nodded and waved them off, amused to hear Annie wondering aloud as they walked to the car about whether the house was going to be warm enough. He saw the look of fond amusement on Saul's face and Rusty grinned: he hoped they'd have a fantastic time.

* * *

Annie was silent in the car and Saul glanced over at her as he drove.

"Will you relax?" he said finally with gruff affection. "The boy is neither stupid nor incapable."

"I know," she sighed. There was a pause and then, "Marty was alright about-"

"-about being at the end of a phone? He was fine. He's not on call so he'll be there if Rusty needs someone to talk to."

"Good, good." Annie looked over at Saul. "Is Marty OK?"

Saul was silent for a moment and then he said quietly, "He's got some issues at work."

"What sort of issues?"

"There's rumours of a suit being brought against the hospital. It's all early days and it will probably disappear but it's a worry for him."

"Marty's to blame?" Annie sounded shocked.

"Not directly." Saul hesitated and he knew that Annie wouldn't press the matter. But then Annie was Annie and she also wouldn't say anything indiscreet. Added to which, he was almost certain that Marty assumed he would tell Annie. There was always that expectation there.

"He thinks Cathy's been drinking again," he said heavily.

Catherine Bonner, trained theatre nurse, who had lost her husband two years ago in a horrific traffic accident; who had been there at the scene and who had held his hand and who had tried desperately to save him. Cathy Bonner, who had had a minor breakdown and whom the hospital supported through her personal crisis because of her years of service and the way her colleagues felt about her. Cathy, who had come back to work and who had walked out just as quickly, unable to handle the blood and the pain and rawness and the life and death.

Marty had fought to make an opening for her that didn't truly exist. He needed help, he'd argued, keeping his patient records straight, organising appointments, making sure his diary ran smoothly. These matters were looked after centrally but Marty had dragged little tasks together until they made a reasonable and worthwhile job. A job that did not involve going anywhere near an operating theatre.

And Cathy was grateful. Very, very grateful. And she was good at what she was asked to do. And if she occasionally turned up at work just a little bit hungover or with a flavour of alcohol still colouring her breath, Marty said nothing and handed her a tin of mints and tried to give her an easy morning until she had actually snapped out of it.

And usually, it didn't matter. Not at all. It was something that stayed with Marty. But occasionally, it did. It mattered a lot.

Annie made a little noise of understanding and sympathy and reached over and squeezed Saul's hand as it rested on the steering wheel. They travelled for a little while like that.

"So," Saul said eventually. "Where do you want to eat?"

* * *

They had eaten at an Italian restaurant and they were now sitting watching _"Coppelia"._ Or rather Annie was watching it. Saul was watching Annie.

After a while, she realised.

"Saul, you're not even looking at the stage!" she accused.

"I know."

"But it– it's amazing!" she said helpless with enjoyment, staring at the dancers.

Saul looked at her face, alight and beautiful and he knew he was never going to stop finding pleasure in the sight.

"It is," he agreed.

She turned and saw the love and her lips formed an "Oh". To hell with etiquette, he thought, and leaned in and kissed her. There was tutting from behind them and when they broke, Saul turned his head to look at those disapproving.

"Sorry," he whispered loudly. "We're on our honeymoon."

The tuts changed into noises of approbation and Saul looked at Annie who was scolding him none too seriously with her eyes and he grinned.

"What?" he whispered just so that she could hear. "It always feels like that to me."

* * *

It was midnight before they started back. Annie had a look of deep contentment on her face.

"Thank you so much," she said sincerely. "It's been a wonderful evening."

Saul smiled and then his face grew serious. "Annie, you are happy, aren't you?"

She laughed. "Of course, I am! Can't you tell?"

"I don't mean tonight…I mean with Rusty. I know it was my decision and…you are happy, aren't you?"

Her face and her voice were completely sincere. "Of course, I am. Can't you tell?"

He reached over and squeezed her hand briefly.

"You are a wonderful woman, Annie."

She smiled. "Rusty's doing alright, isn't he? I mean I don't need details but Carter was pleased with him, wasn't he?"

"Everyone was. He had a small but significant role and he did it well. And I think he enjoyed himself."

"You're very proud of him," she said fondly and he nodded. It was obvious. "So am I," she added and he smiled broadly.

* * *

Rusty was asleep on the couch with the television flickering to itself in the corner. Saul turned it off and Annie looked down at the empty dishes on the table beside Rusty and the shoes kicked off and the sight of Rusty, flat out, blond hair falling across his face.

He blinked up into consciousness and smiled up at Annie smiling down at him.

"Did you have a nice time?" he asked sleepily, sitting up.

"We did. Did you?"

"Mmm. Hitchcock. "Shadow of a Doubt" and "Notorious"."

"Oh, I love those!" Annie said excitedly. "Oh, when Dev thinks-"

"-and really, all she wants-"

"-is him to say _something-_"

"-_anything-_"

-and then Claude Rains at the end!"

"Yeah."

They smiled happily at each other and Saul shook his head.

"Bedtime. Before I start asking for explanations I don't really want."

* * *

It was a couple of days later and Rusty had braved Annie's driving and headed to the supermarket to help with the shop and to pick up a few toiletries.

He was down an aisle busy reading the contents of a tube of toothpaste and wondering whether monoflurophosphate was a made-up word, when a voice said, "Hello, Rusty."

Lila was stood there.

He straightened up and tried to ignore the sudden doubling of his heart rate that Lila always seemed to cause. She was holding a shopping basket and she was wearing a stripey top and skintight black jeans that made him swallow hard just thinking about the view from behind.

"Hello, Lila," he said and his voice sounded steady and casual to his own ears and he was proud of himself. He was definitely not thinking about any dreams.

"Haven't seen you at lunch for a while."

No. He'd taken a break. He was due back at Sam's in the morning.

"I'll be back in tomorrow," he said.

"I'll be sure to look out for you," she said and it sounded like a promise and an invitation and Rusty's mouth was suddenly very dry.

She looked him over and tilted her head on one side. "I haven't seen you out of your overalls."

Was he still breathing? He couldn't be certain.

"Well, if it comes to that," Rusty changed what he was going to say at the last second, "I've only ever seen you at the diner."

Lila moved closer and closer and he needed to swallow because she was standing right in front of him now and she was reaching out and surely, she couldn't mean to kiss him right here, right now, but her face was so close to his and she wasn't wearing perfume and he could smell just her and the nearness of her was intoxicating …then he realised the angle was slightly wrong and she was reaching past him and she stood back with a bottle of mouthwash in her hand. She slipped it into her basket, her eyes never leaving Rusty's.

"See you soon, then," she murmured and she walked away without a backward glance.

All Rusty could think as she left him was that the reality did not disappoint.

"Rusty?"

He started. It was Annie. And her face was curious and wondering and he tried to work out how long she had been stood watching him.

"I…Hi, Annie. Toothpaste." He waved the tube in front of her and she nodded slowly, her expression not changing. She looked away from him and after Lila and he turned his head but Lila was nowhere in sight. Maybe Annie hadn't seen-

"Who was that?" she asked and her voice was light and carefully neutral.

"Lila. Just a girl I know." He said it carelessly.

"Aha," Annie nodded and he held his breath for a moment and then she said brightly, "Well. Let's get this shopping finished."

* * *

Saul came back from the bathroom that night and padded into the room to see Annie, sitting on the edge of the bed brushing her hair out, a thoughtful expression on her face. He pushed aside a section of her hair and leaned in and kissed her neck.

"Do you know how sexy you look right now?"

She smiled up at him and he sighed happily. He took the brush from her hand and put it on the dressing table and turned back to Annie. He leaned in to kiss her again and frowned as she pulled away and stood up.

"We met a girl called Lila today," Annie said, pulling the covers back and climbing into bed.

Saul blinked at the non-sequitur. "Lila. Oh, Lila from the diner."

"The diner?"

"Round the back of Sam's garage. Rusty's taken to eating lunch there."

"Has he."

It seemed like Annie was waiting for something more as he climbed into bed alongside her and Saul puzzled a little over what exactly. His brow cleared as realisation dawned.

"Don't worry, Annie. Rusty's never going to find anywhere that compares to your cooking."

He hit the lights and snuggled down in bed, arms round Annie who seemed uncharacteristically distracted.

"Saul Bloom, you are so _stupid_ at times," she said with a sigh and then leaned in and planted a kiss on his forehead.

* * *

The following day, Rusty was finishing his lunch at the diner when Annie unexpectedly sat down opposite him.

"Hello, Rusty dear. I was out shopping and I thought I would call in and see you. Sam said you were here."

He chewed the final piece of burger and stared at her.

"Well, it's nice to see you," he ventured.

Lila appeared at the table.

"Can I get you anything, ma'am?"

"Just a coffee," Annie smiled. "Lila."

There was something in the smile. Something and Rusty didn't understand and couldn't pinpoint and Annie was everything well-mannered and polite and she was smiling just as she always did and yet there was an edge, somehow. Lila was smiling back at her and Rusty thought there was amusement and maybe just a little bit of nervousness. He found himself hoping fervently that Annie didn't use that smile on him.

As Lila walked away to place the order, he was scrupulous not to look after her. He picked up the last fries off his plate and dipped them into the ketchup on the side.

"Actually, Annie, I'm done here really. I need to get back to the garage. Why don't you walk back over with me?"

"Oh, you go ahead, Rusty. I don't want to hold you up. Especially if Sam's waiting. I'm heading back home now anyway."

Good. Good. He relaxed and he wasn't sure why he was tense in the first place. He stood up and then Annie added, "I'll just drink my coffee first."

* * *

Rusty had gone and Lila had brought her coffee over and turned to leave.

"Please sit down a moment, would you?"

"I'm not supposed to fraternise with the customers."

Annie's smile widened. "That's exactly what I want to talk to you about."

There was a moment's pause and then Lila slid into the seat that Rusty had recently vacated.

"You are…?"

"Annie Bloom."

"Saul's wife, right?"

"That's right. And you are Lila…?"

"Blake. But just call me Lila."

Annie took a mouthful of coffee and candid looks were exchanged.

"You warning me off him, Mrs Bloom?"

"Please. Annie. No, no, Lila. I'm not doing that."

"Good. Because I don't react well to discouragement."

Annie took another sip of coffee and leaned forward in her seat.

"You like Rusty."

"Yes."

"You want to…" Lila refused to help her out and Annie settled for, "You want to."

"Oh, I do." Challenging. "Whatever you say."

Annie nodded.

"Well, here's what I say, Lila." She looked her in the eyes. "You treat him well, you treat him with respect and you and I are going to get along just fine. You hurt him, you make him miserable and you and I are going to fall out."

Lila looked at her and there was a frown at the discord between the pleasant appearance on the one hand and the words and the look of pure steel on the other.

"What'ya planning to do?" Lila said eventually, voice full of bravado.

"I don't know," Annie said truthfully. "I really don't. But whatever it is, I doubt you'd like it."

* * *

"Lila Blake." Annie announced to Saul as he read his newspaper under the tree.

He looked over the newspaper at her. "Should I know…oh, Lila."

"Lila Blake," Annie nodded. "What do you know about her?"

"Not much." Saul frowned. "Why?"

"I appear to have just threatened her and I would like to know how wise a move that was."

The newspaper was dropped and Saul got to his feet. "_What?"  
_

"Sit down, Saul. Rusty's about to start going out with her."

"He's _what?_"

"Sit down, Saul," she repeated and he did so.

"Perhaps I should have a word," he said.

"No." Annie shook her head firmly. "I've spoken to her."

"I meant with him. It's just that for a boy with a lot of sexual experience, I don't know that he has a lot of sexual experience."

"Oh!" Annie thought for a moment. "No," she shook her head equally firmly. "I'm not sure how aware he is of what's going to happen."

Saul looked at her. "But you are."

"Oh, yes," Annie nodded. "It's obvious."

* * *

"Lila Blake. 23-"

"23!"

"Yes, 23," Saul confirmed. "Rents a flat above a shop in town. Has a boyfriend in jail-"

"Jail, Saul!"

"Yes, jail, who's due out in two years unless he get parole. He's not a local lad. Not entirely sure how Lila ended up here except it's a short bus ride to the prison."

"Oh, Saul…" Annie looked at him and there was worry there.

"It's up to Rusty," he told her quietly and she sighed and nodded.

"I know," she said unhappily.

* * *

It was raining when Rusty finished work. He stood at the entrance of the garage, looking forlornly at the rain.

"Can I give you a lift home? Not that you'll be needing me for much longer. You putting in for your test soon, right?"

"Yeah." He was. Soon. Tomorrow if it meant he could avoid walking home in the rain.

"So, you want the lift?"

Rusty was about to accept gladly when he saw Lila standing in the doorway of the closed shoe shop opposite. Looking straight at him.

"That's OK, Sam, thanks."

He pulled the collar of his overalls up round his neck and as Sam went back inside, he darted across the road and up on to the sidewalk till he was standing in front of Lila, the rain running off the back of his head.

"C'mere." Lila reached out and pulled him into the doorway. There was very little room for one. There was even less for two.

"Lila...?" Cool and curious.

"So you like boys or what?"

Speechless with shock, Rusty stared at her. She couldn't know…she couldn't…how could she…

"Just that I been giving you all the signals and you…" Lila studied his face. "Huh. Well…you wanna kiss me or wha-?"

His hands were in her hair, pulling her face towards his, his mouth seeking hers, and his body pushed hers back against the door. Her arms wrapped themselves round him and she pulled him closer, deeper into the kiss. Lila tasted soft and exhilarating and Rusty was lost in the moment, living for the moment, amazing and unbelievable. They broke and stood, their faces just a few inches away, panting slightly.

"I'm not looking for anything complicated," Lila told him. "I got my man. He's inside at the moment."

Rusty blinked at her. "What for?" he found himself asking as if that was the most important part of the conversation.

"Robbery," Lila grinned. "Don't worry. He knows that if he wants me to himself, he has to keep from being caught. One of these days, that message might actually get through to him."

"You cheating on him," Rusty said softly.

Lila shook her head emphatically. "We broke up the second he got sent down. I'm my own woman. But it's only fair to tell you that this isn't going to go anywhere. I'm not going to lead you on, Rusty. But if you want something no strings attached…"

He looked at her. "You've made this speech before, haven't you?"

"Once or twice," she said. "Does it show?"

Rusty didn't answer and Lila raised her chin. "You make your mind up, you be sure to come and find me."

She pushed past him and walked out into the rain and left Rusty, alone and thinking.

* * *

When he got back home, he was wet and indecision was raging through him. Part of him knew very well what he wanted to do, the choice he wanted to make. It was busy making it for him; playing out exactly how that choice would be consummated. And another part of him was arguing that whatever Lila said, there were strings attached. For her. Oh, not that he was worried about Lila's man giving him a beating. Well, maybe he was worried a little about that but only if it stopped him working with Saul. What concerned him was the idea that she was spoken for. And she'd told him as much. And how right did that make this?

He opened the door to the kitchen and saw Annie sitting at the table, towel in hand and an unreadable expression on her face.

"Sit down, Rusty," she suggested and handed him the towel.

He sat opposite her and started to rub through his hair and the back of his neck; then he put the towel on the table and he waited. Because without a shadow of a doubt, Annie wanted to say something and he was awfully afraid he knew what her opening word would be.

"Lila."

"Yeah." He'd been right.

"She's a very attractive young lady."

"She is." Easier to agree than not. And it was true as far as he was concerned. She was attractive. Didn't mean he wanted to be discussing her with Annie.

She smiled slightly as if reading his mind. "Would you rather you were having this conversation with Saul?"

Rusty exhaled slowly. "What is this conversation, Annie?"

There was still a smile but there was serious behind her eyes.

"I-_we_ want you to be happy, Rusty. Happy and safe. You know that."

He nodded. It was in everything Annie and Saul did. It was in everything he read and felt.

Annie leaned across the table and took hold of his hand.

"Lila…"

Rusty sighed. "Annie, I don't know what to do."

"That's OK. No one does." Annie squeezed his hand and he wondered…

"Well," she went on slowly, "women like to be treated just like you would like to be treated. With respect and consideration. And…" she swallowed and then went on, the colour a little high in her cheeks but her voice steady, "you need to think about taking time to make sure she enjoys things as much as you do."

Rusty stared at her unblinking and Annie was talking and he was listening and she was explaining and he didn't need the explanation and still he couldn't find his voice to stop her.

"Every woman has different things that she likes. Different…er…different places that work for them. You need to explore-"

"Oh,-Annie,-I-know-the-mechanics!" he managed in a rush and she flushed and giggled nervously and bit her lip.

"I'm sorry, Rusty. I just…"

"It's fine, Annie. It's fine. Really. Appreciate it." He smiled. "No one ever bothered to sit me down before."

A look of pain fleeted across Annie's face. "So. What is it you're worried about?"

"It's complicated. I don't… It's complicated."

She nodded, accepting the answer, and reached into her apron pocket.

"If you decide…well. Here."

Rusty's fingers closed around a packet of condoms and his lips twitched.

"Thanks, Annie."

* * *

He sat on the edge of his bed, still in his overalls, and turned the packet over and over in his hand. Lila… tempting and enticing and now…now, he had kissed her and everything had come one step closer to happening and he didn't know whether things had gone past the point of no return already because the ache was becoming unbearable.

"Annie said you had something on your mind."

The condoms disappeared into his pocket as Saul sat down beside him.

"There's a guy in prison that Lila's waiting for. She told me they split up when he went in and they're going to pick up where they left off when he gets out."

Saul digested the information. "And you…"

"And I…damn it, Saul, I don't know how I feel about it."

"Well." Saul lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Her fella is never going to give you permission if that's what you're waiting for." He looked at Rusty. "Most people come with baggage of one sort or another," he said gently and Rusty winced. "Lila's being honest with you."

"I guess." Rusty hesitated. "I wasn't planning on telling her-"

"No. No need to mention that to anyone until you feel ready and comfortable to do so." Saul was definite on that point.

Well, that was reassuring. Still didn't help him with Lila.

A look of sympathy ran over Saul's face. "I can't make your mind up for you. It's up to you, Rusty."

* * *

Saul and Annie were sat in the lounge reading a newspaper and doing needlework respectively.

The front door went and they looked at each other.

"Guess he's made up his mind," Saul said and Annie nodded.

He could see her biting her lip.

"She could be the best thing that could happen to him, Annie."

She nodded again and looked a little comforted and they went back to what they were doing.

* * *

Lila opened the door. She looked at him and smiled.

"Come on in."

Her flat was painted white with huge bright blue and pink daisies on the walls. There was a bed and a couch and a TV and a bathroom off. Rusty's eyes scanned round the room and turned back to Lila behind him, her back against the closed door.

Rusty looked down at himself. He hadn't changed. He'd just run. "I need to freshen up," he realised aloud.

"Shower's through there," Lila pointed. "Take your time."

He stripped and ran the shower and soaped and lathered and watched grime and bubbles disappear down the plughole. As he stepped out of the shower, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Droplets of water clung to his body. Blond hair was plastered to his head. Naked. Naked and about to share that vulnerability with someone else. Suddenly self-conscious, he pulled a towel around his waist and stepped back into the main room.

Lila had been busy.

The bed covers were thrown back invitingly. The lighting had been turned down to seductive. Music was playing, a female singer he didn't recognise. All of these things, Rusty's senses noted but his attention was focused on Lila. Lila, standing in black lacy underwear complete with black stockings and heels that made her as tall as he was.

He was drawn to her inexorably. He stood in front of her and she glanced down at the towel.

"You're still dressed," she murmured.

"So are you."

"Let's do something about that, shall we?"

Rusty ran a hand gently over her left shoulder and his fingers traced the tiny butterfly tattoo. She shivered at the touch.

"It's pretty." His mouth brushed over the delicate purple wings.

"Mmm." Lila shifted her weight slightly. "You know something? It hurt more than the rose and the dolphin put together."

Rusty looked at her quizzically.

"Surprises," she promised and her eyes were inviting and her grin was wide. "You like them, right?"

"Do you?"

"Drop the towel and I'll tell you," she suggested. Her words were husky and throaty and he obeyed.

She glanced down and her lips twitched. "You _are_ pleased to be here." She lifted her gaze and took his hand and led him to the bed.

* * *

Rusty's fingers ran over creamy flesh captured by black lace. He undid the clasp and lifted the material away and smiled down at the little red rose exposed. He kissed it and then his mouth and hands and tongue ran down over hips and curves and grazed up black nylon covered thighs. Lila purred and rippled under his touch. Scant lace disappeared under his fingers and he planted tiny kisses along her inner thighs. Lila's fingernails wrapped into his hair.

* * *

Lila smiled up at him as he leaned over her and then reached up and pulled him down and rolled him on to his back, reversing their positions.

"Let me," she said and he did.

* * *

Heat and lust possessed him. Lila's mouth and hands were roaming his body intent on driving him wild: she was succeeding. Barely, he was holding on to self control. His skin was alive and buzzing with kisses and teasing nips and Lila's breath ghosted over his chest, his stomach, his hips, his thighs.

He might die. Or explode. Or possibly both.

* * *

Lila dropped down beside him and her mouth covered his ear.

"Want to hunt that dolphin?"

"Sounds ever so slightly forbidden."

Lila grinned.

* * *

Gloss and silk and sheen…

Stocking-clad legs wrapped round him…

Holding and stroking and caressing…

Gentle and urgent and needing…

Moving and rhythm and building…

Stars and fireworks and pleasure flooding him.

* * *

Rusty lay back, eyes closed, breathing heavily and Lila placed a hand on his chest as it rose and fell.

* * *

Lila was asleep in his arms and the slow, hazy, heady comfort of satisfying sex suffused him.

For so long sex had been about surviving. He had been disengaged, disassociated throughout the one-way process that pulled from him relentlessly.

This was two-way. This was mind-blowing. This was…this was going to happen again.


	18. Lucy

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: I do not own Rusty, I do not own Saul.

Chapter Eighteen: Lucy

* * *

Lila. Lila. Sam and the garage. Lila. Cards with Saul. Drinking with Saul. Lila. Driving lessons. Lila. Lila.

Hours and days flew by and Rusty was walking around with a half-grin on his face that never seemed to disappear. Every now and then, he would catch sight of himself in a mirror and the half-grin would become wider. Life was decidedly sweet. The days were getting longer and the orchard was green and there was Annie's baking and Saul's teaching and there was Lila. Life was sweet indeed.

* * *

Lucy's promised visit was happening and Annie's smile, never that far away, was everpresent on her face.

"What you got lined up?" Saul asked as they lay in bed the night before Lucy's arrival.

"She's setting out tonight. Driving up and stopping over on the way and she should get here mid-morning so I thought we'd just wander round the shops," Annie said dreamily and Saul could see that she was thinking about a coffee and a cake and browsing through books and clothes and just generally pottering because the what and the where didn't matter but the company and the chatter and the laughter did.

"Friends of the Hospital garden party on Saturday afternoon," Saul reminded her gently. "Unless you-"

"Oh, yes," Annie nodded. This was obviously part of her plans. "And then maybe…" she hesitated, "maybe…well, she'll probably want to actually see something of her grandparents." She laughed and she sounded young and carefree and even though Saul kept thinking he couldn't possibly love her any more than he did, he kept finding himself proved wrong. "But Sunday, we could go and walk through the woods and then I could do a roast dinner and-"

The rest of Annie's thoughts were cut off by a fierce kiss from Saul and discussion went down a different route for a while.

* * *

Lucy arrived and was introduced again to Saul and Rusty, nodding nervously and Rusty realised with faint surprise that she was anxious to make a good impression not only on Saul but on him also. There were a few minutes of awkward small talk and smiling and it was enough for him to know that he liked her. She was taking nothing for granted. Certainly not Annie. As the pair of them disappeared out of the door, Rusty caught sight of Saul's face and the tenderness and the happiness and the love were so strong, Rusty felt his own mouth crook up in a smile.

Saul shook himself and the emotion disappeared.

"You got plans for today?" he asked Rusty.

Well, plans involved Lila. But she was working a half day and so they weren't going to meet up till the afternoon.

"Nothing this morning."

"Good. I'll make a phone call and then, hopefully, we can go for a drive."

The drive turned out to be an hour and several towns away. The house they pulled up in front of was small and terraced and nothing out of the ordinary. Rusty stared at it thoughtfully and caught Saul looking at him.

"Well?" Saul asked and Rusty shook his head with a smile. He wasn't biting. No judgment. No speculation. He needed more information.

"Gustav Weissman. He's been good enough to spare us a couple of hours."

The door opened on an elderly becardiganned man in carpet slippers with a shock of white hair and bright blue eyes.

"Gustav, good to see you again. Thank you so much for seeing us."

"Saul Bloom. And this must be your young friend." The accent was light and European and the man welcomed both of them into his house.

"Please to take a seat. I am making tea."

Rusty and Saul sat down in the saggy green chairs in the front room. Rusty's eyes flicked round the room. A clock above the mantelpiece and an oil painting of a stern looking woman whose masculine features offered a strong enough resemblance for Rusty to decide she was Gustav's mother. There was a glass cabinet up against one wall with tiny little crystal sculptures. Rusty squinted: they looked like animals. There was a bookcase with heavy-looking leather bound volumes. There was a birdcage with a tiny canary and a black and white cat curled up sleeping on a windowsill. As Rusty watched, the cat opened one eye and studied the canary. Obviously it had a jailbreak on its mind.

"Here we are," Gustav said, returning with a tray and pink and white china cups, a tea pot and milk and sugar together with a plate of chocolate biscuits. He deposited it on the coffee table and smiled at Saul.

"It has been a while, Saul. It is nice to see you again too. And who is this?"

"This is Rusty Ryan, Gustav."

Handshakes and nods and Gustav poured tea and invited Rusty to help himself to biscuits.

"So, Rusty. Call me Gustav. Saul looking after you?"

"He is, Gustav." Rusty looked at the man who was showing him there was so much to life. "I'm learning a lot."

"Well, Saul has asked me to teach you a little more."

Gustav shuffled over to the portrait and took it down off the wall revealing a safe. A few deft turns and the combination was entered and the door swung open. Gustav pulled out a large velvet roll and rolled it out on the coffee table next to the tray. The biscuit froze in Rusty's hand.

Precious stones sparkled. Stones of different sizes and colours. Stones that were obviously, evidently, without a shadow of a doubt, priceless.

"Gustav knows jewels," Saul said as Rusty stared unblinking at the treasure. "Cut and carat and clarity and colour."

Gustav picked up a large diamond carefully, lovingly, and offered it to Rusty. Rusty despatched the rest of the biscuit and rubbed his fingers on his jeans. Reverently, he took it from Gustav and studied it.

"They call this cut a round brilliant," Gustav said.

Rusty held it up to the light and it twinkled in the sunlight filtering in through the net curtains. The cat raised its head.

"It's amazing," he said sincerely. "It's simply amazing."

Gustav smiled and handed him a loupe. "Wait till you see it up close."

* * *

Later and Lila and he lay looking up and his brain was coming down from the heights and as it cleared, twists of sparkle and gleam wrapped their way through his mind. Beautiful. Shiny. Unforgettable.

"_You come back and see me again," Gustav said as they left. "I have much to show you."_

There was much to see.

* * *

Later and Saul and Annie and Lucy were standing on the lawns of the hospital, together with several others, gathered ostensibly to listen to an address by the chairman of the board of trustees and not at all there to enjoy the sunshine and the social.

Saul sipped the glass of champagne and nodded at Marty standing in another little group close by. Marty's face was tight and drawn and Saul flashed him a sympathetic smile. Marty's expression relaxed a little and Saul saw him make his excuses to the people he was talking to.

"You remember Lucy from New Year's?" Annie asked as Marty joined them.

"The lady who can't cook," he smiled down at her and Saul saw some more of the tension leave him.

"The man who was going to try and make me," Lucy laughed.

"Lucy's staying over with Hilary and Bert," Saul said.

"We've been catching up," Annie added and she and Lucy exchanged a grin.

"Yes, I spoke to your grandparents earlier." Marty made a vague gesture at the crowd surrounding them and then shrugged. "You heading back tomorrow?"

"Monday, actually," Lucy said. "Not that I've got a lot going on in Denver right now."

"What do you do?" Marty asked, looking interested.

"Well, in reality I'm an international spy but my cover story is that I'm an accountant. I worked for one of the bigger firms but they've just let me and about thirty other people go."

"Sorry to hear it," Marty said.

"Don't be," Lucy smiled. "I'm a terrible accountant."

Marty laughed and Saul was willing to bet that was the first time in a few weeks that he'd let go like that.

"Is there anything that you are good at?"

"Crosswords," Lucy said solemnly. She sighed. "Actually, I'm not a bad accountant. I just don't have the vocational call that everyone else at the firm seems to. The zeal is scary. I can never get that excited about numbers."

She turned to Annie. "What did you do before you met Saul?"

"I trained as a secretary. Typing, shorthand, 'take a letter, Miss Jones'. Haven't done any of that in years."

"Well, the little job you had with Jack," Saul reminded her and there was almost a longer second than there should be and then Annie smiled.

"Oh, yes, of course. I had a Girl Friday job with my brother-in-law for a little while. But I didn't need it. I have enough of a job looking after Saul."

"He takes some looking after," Marty agreed and Saul saw in his eyes the glint of the last time he'd personally needed Marty.

"I'm lucky to be surrounded by people with my best interests at heart," Saul said sincerely.

He looked at the empty glass in Lucy's hand and the near empty one in Annie's.

"Shall we go and find more refreshments for the ladies?" he asked Marty and Marty accepted the chance for some private conversation.

They stepped away and towards the long table where waiters were pouring drinks.

"How's it going?" Saul asked quietly as they stood in line behind two men who were busy discussing last night's game.

"Well, it's going," Marty replied in an equally low voice and the tightness returned to his face. "Just a damn stupid mix up with the records. Nobody died, Saul. And they're on at me to do something about Cathy. Saul, this job is all she has. Without it, she'll be that empty grey-faced shell that wandered round after Tom's death. She needs this."

"When do you find out?"

"Board meets in six weeks' time. There'll be a hearing."

"Could they…well, could they?"

"They could." Marty gave a rueful smile. "I'm hoping they won't. And I'm hoping Cathy's job's safe too."

Saul nodded. "Yeah. I hope so."

There was a silence and then Marty broke it.

"Took my car into Sam's for a service. Saw Rusty." He glanced at Saul and said casually. "He's looking well."

Saul grinned. "Yes, he is. Little bit of therapy called Lila Blake."

"Ah…Lila…I know Lila." Marty smiled. "Treated her for a nasty cut on her hand early last year. Mmm. I can see how a dose of Lila might be good for him."

"She's definitely made an impression."

"I can see that," Marty agreed with amusement. "What with Annie's meals and working alongside you and meeting Lila, he's healing nicely." He gave Saul a fond, appraising look. "You're doing a fine job with him, Saul. And I bet you can't remember a time before him."

Saul gave a sigh and a smile and then his face grew serious.

"We know we don't have a right to him, Marty. He's his own person. And one day, he'll take off and life will probably seem that little bit greyer without him. But it's just…oh, Marty…I see Annie and she is so…do you have any idea what it's like to see the one person that you love beyond anything else in this world and she's got the one thing that she wants beyond anything else in this world and she is just so damn _happy_…"

He swallowed and blinked hard and Marty gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and they moved forward slowly till they reached the front of the line.

"Four glasses, please," Saul said and he and Marty picked up two each and turned to head back.

"Saul. Marty." Millicent smiled at them. "Don't you hate waiting in line?"

* * *

Inevitably, Millicent strolled back with them to where Lucy and Annie were stood. Inevitably, Beryl was stood with them. And Saul saw, inevitably, the unease in Annie.

"Hello, I'm Millicent Rowntree." A well-manicured hand was extended and Lucy shook it. "I'm Annie's oldest friend."

"Lucy Dawson. Nice to meet you."

"Dawson…related to Hilary and Bert?"

"Grand-daughter."

"Of course. So, you're visiting. How lovely."

Lucy looked at Annie and smiled. "Yes, it is."

Saul saw Annie flashing a quick smile back and Millicent's mouth tighten a tiny fraction.

"Well, where are you from and what do you do? Beryl and I are fascinated."

Personally, Saul thought Beryl looked less than fascinated. Beryl looked as interested in Annie's life and anyone involved in it as she always did. Lucy hesitated for a moment and then smiled at Millicent.

"Well, I live in Denver and I'm trained as an accountant and-"

"Goodness," Millicent interrupted. "A big city girl. We must seem awfully behind the times to you."

"Not at all," Lucy laughed. "What a funny thing to say."

Millicent swept on regardless. "And a career girl…you must be very intelligent. All we three had to look forward to was finding a husband with some status in society, wasn't it, girls?"

She laughed and her laughter was hard and Beryl's lips twitched automatically and Annie looked down at her drink and Lucy just looked at Millicent and frowned.

"Of course, I'm being presumptuous. You may have a wealthy husband tucked away in Colorado."

There was a moment's silence and Saul wanted to cover for Lucy and he felt Marty shift his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably. Before either of them could say a thing, Lucy spoke up.

"No. I've never married." Her head was held high and her voice was steady and clear and not in the least bit ashamed of the fact.

"Oh!" Millicent sounded as apologetic as if Lucy had blushed and stammered her answer. "Well, marriage isn't for everyone. And I'm sure you've had such a fulfilling life."

"I have," Lucy said slowly.

"Beryl and Annie and I just never got started on the career ladder."

"Oh, that's not true!" Lucy said hotly. "Annie trained as a secretary-"

"Yes, of course, she did," Millicent exclaimed. "I'd forgotten that. You did, didn't you?"

"Yes," Annie said quietly. "I did."

"You worked for Jack," Beryl reminded her and Saul saw Annie's fingers tighten on the glass she was holding. Sure enough, Millicent leapt in.

"Jack was Beryl's husband, Lucy. He passed away some time ago now. But he was such a successful businessman. But such a charmer! Oh, he could flirt! Such a gift he had for putting you at your ease."

Annie's fingers were white and Saul glanced at Beryl and wondered for the nth time how she could hear what Millicent was saying and yet not hear what Millicent was saying. It was truly a gift.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Lucy said to Beryl. "You must miss him."

"I do," Beryl agreed solemnly.

"It's not nice to be alone," Millicent patted Beryl's arm. "Not to have someone to go home to. Not to have someone to share life's ups and downs with."

Lucy blinked at her and Annie's mouth tightened.

Beryl smiled at her. "Thank you for understanding, Millicent. You're such a good friend."

Saul almost snorted and Marty, who had been drinking, coughed and spluttered.

* * *

Lucy had gone home with Hilary and Bert with the promise to come calling early the next day. Annie was quiet on the journey home and Saul squeezed her hand.

"You had a nice time?"

"Yes," she said eventually. "Yes. Lucy's lovely."

She turned her head and looked out of the car window at the houses and trees flashing by.

"She is." Saul approved heartily of Lucy. He'd been especially delighted when she'd stood up to Millicent and stood up for Annie. "Pity Millicent went fishing. And a pity she has to flaunt Jack all the time," he added savagely. "I'm amazed Beryl can't see the betrayal of trust."

There was the hint of a noise from Annie and Saul shook his head, still furious with Millicent, and they drove in silence for a while.

* * *

Rusty came home to dinner and lamb chops and saw the look of amusement on Saul's face as he piled his plate high with potatoes. Well, he was hungry. Not actually starving, but still…

"How has your day been, Rusty dear?" Annie asked, handing him the gravy.

_Stimulating? Demanding? Exhausting? _Rusty bought time by passing the vegetables to Saul before settling for the honest and the simple. One or the other was usually best.

"It's been fun." He smiled at Annie and shifted the topic. "Lucy seemed nice."

"Oh, we had a lovely time!" Annie said happily and there was talk of town and shops and the sparkle shone through her.

* * *

The morning saw Lucy arrive bright and early and she and Annie set off along the edge of the large cornfield at the bottom of the garden and towards the woods in the distance.

"You're not sorry you don't live in a city, are you?" Lucy said suddenly. "It's really peaceful round here, isn't it?"

"I love it here," Annie agreed and waited but there was nothing more for a bit and then:

"You know something?" Lucy went on, "Millicent had already spoken to my grandparents about me. At the hospital, I mean. She already knew I lived in Denver and she knew I was an accountant and she knew I wasn't married…"

Annie sighed. "Oh, Lucy…"

"Was it me?" Lucy frowned. "Or did she…look, I'm sorry, Annie. She's your friend and I-"

"It wasn't you," Annie interrupted fiercely. "It's what she does. She makes these little remarks that you can't quite take offence at. She's very good at it."

"Yes, I can see that," Lucy agreed fervently.

"And…" Annie swallowed. "And she says she's my friend but I don't say she's mine. Friends are about making each other laugh and about wanting to see the other one happy."

There was a pause and then Lucy reached over and took her hand and squeezed it gently and they both smiled.

* * *

They walked a long way through the woods and the conversation darted between old movies and favourite books and music and they were busy building new references and not completely aware of their surroundings.

Annie had just told Lucy about Saul dressing up as Christopher Lee one Hallowe'en to terrify her when Lucy gave an exclamation and her arms flailed and then she pitched sideways and Annie grabbed at her hand to stop her falling but it didn't help and Lucy landed on the ground with a sharp cry, her foot caught and bent over in a molehill.

"Lucy!" Annie was at her side.

"It hurts," she said unnecessarily, leaning back on her hands and staring down at her right ankle.

Annie sat down beside her and studied the offending foot.

"Do you think it's broken?"

"I don't think so. I don't know. What do you think?"

Annie shrugged helplessly. "I don't know either. Do you think you can put any weight on it?"

"I'll try."

Annie helped her upright but Lucy gasped and yelped and sat back down again.

"No," she said with a tight smile. "That's not going to happen."

"No," Annie agreed, her face troubled.

"Look, go and find some help," Lucy said practically.

"I'm not leaving you," Annie dismissed the idea.

"Well, we can't stay here," Lucy laughed.

Annie stood up and took her bearings.

"We're about an hour away from home. But if we go on this way just a little further, we'll find the main road and there's a call box along there and I can call Saul."

Lucy looked up at her. "We still have to get to the main road," she pointed out.

"Yes, we do," Annie nodded.

* * *

It was only just a little way further but it took a very long time. Lucy's right arm was draped around Annie's shoulders and she was hobbling and Annie was supporting her weight and they were trying to cope with the pain and the strain by guessing lines from movies.

"'_The Godfather'," _Lucy said, grimacing. "You're giving me easy ones."

"Yes and no, I'm not," Annie panted. "Your turn."

"Listen to the children of the night," Lucy tailed off and they stopped for a moment while they both caught their breath and Annie looked anxiously at her face, white and strained. Lucy swallowed and finished, "what music they make."

Annie laughed. "_Dracula._ Bela."

"Yeah," Lucy smiled. "Scarier than Christopher?"

"Well, depends on whether Saul's playing him."

They moved on and then they hit road and Lucy was visibly relieved and noticeably quieter. They hadn't gone but a few yards and several minutes when a station wagon screeched to a halt on the opposite side of the road.

Annie sighed with relief as Marty came running across.

"Oh, Marty! You are a sight for sore eyes! We were walking and Lucy's…"

She stopped. It was self-evident.

"You found something else you're not very good at?" Marty asked Lucy and without waiting for an answer, bent down and picked her up in her arms.

"I feel like Scarlett O'Hara," Lucy told him with a laugh of surprise.

Marty smiled. "Frankly, my dear, we're going to my house. It's closer and my bag's there. Come on, Annie."

* * *

Annie at her side, Lucy was sat in an armchair in the lounge, sipping a small glass of whisky that Marty had pressed into her hand. Marty eased off her shoe and gently pulled off the sock.

"How's it looking?" Lucy winced.

"Colourful," Marty said. His fingers moved gently and expertly and Lucy bit her lip as he examined the foot.

"Well?"

"It's not very. Not broken, though," he smiled reassuringly. "Just a nasty sprain."

"Do you get nice sprains?"

"Never come across one," he chuckled. He looked up at Annie. "Cold compress and strapping. If you want to call Saul, you can tell him I'll run you both back home."

"You'll stay for dinner," Annie insisted.

"Well…"

"Please," Lucy asked and Marty looked at her and then up at Annie.

"I'm never going to turn down a plate of your food, Annie. Thank you." He glanced back at Lucy. "Drink some more whisky," he suggested lightly. "It's put some colour in your cheeks."

* * *

There were paroxysms of laughter, loud and uncontrollable, around the dinner table and Rusty, sitting slightly back from the conversation, grinned. Saul had said something and Marty had said something else and Annie had misheard and Lucy had squealed and now all four of them had dissolved into tears and smiles.

The laughter was rich and vivid and Rusty loved the sound.

* * *

Lucy's visit was extended by a week as her ankle healed. She spent the days with Annie and Saul: sitting in the orchard, watching old movies, helping Saul with the crossword. Marty called by: once, twice, three times, four. Annie cooked; Saul entertained; Lucy chattered; Marty listened.

There were long days and friendship and happiness. Life was sweet all round.


	19. Potiphar's Wife

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: Rusty and Saul belong to people other than me.

A/N: Thank you to the everpatient otherhawk for listening to the whimpers while I wrote this chapter.

Also, stupidly long. Didn't want to break it.

Chapter Nineteen: Potiphar's Wife

* * *

Rusty parked up at Sam's, turned the engine off and sat in his car for a moment, his hand resting on the wheel. It had been four days since he'd officially become a driver and the independence was still a novelty that hadn't worn off. If he was being honest, he doubted that it would wear off for a very long time. Saul and Annie had been proud and pleased and thrilled and Sam had grinned and clapped him on the back, just as delighted.

His first solo trip had been to pick Lila up and take her for a drive out and while they hadn't exactly found Inspiration Point, there'd been a detour that had left them giggling and breathless and might have had Rusty's licence revoked in the same day that it was granted.

"Alright, Rusty?" Sam sauntered out of the door and leaned up against the side of the brown convertible.

"You heading out?"

"Got a call from Alison Halloway. Her car won't start and Greg's out of town. Said I'd run over and have a look. Mind you, if it's the same as last time, she's just run out of gas."

Sam rolled his eyes and Rusty could see the words "_Women drivers" _running over his face.

"I'll go and get started on the Chrysler," Rusty offered.

"Thanks, Rusty. I'll be back as soon as I can."

* * *

The Chrysler was going to be a project. It hadn't had a service in years and it needed stripping down and one long, loving overhaul. Rusty turned the radio on and then looked at Sam's scribbled notes. Suspension was circled in red. It looked like a place to start and he pulled out the little trolley and laid down and prepared to inspect.

It was a mess. It needed fixing. And Rusty's mind sharpened.

He had been underneath the car on and off for about an hour, surfacing only to find tools, when he heard the door go and footsteps heading his way. And unless Sam had decided to start wearing heels, they were very female footsteps. Rusty smiled and shook his head. Lila must have taken a very early break. _(Except there was something…) _The feet stopped in front of him and he felt toes nudge his right leg.

"Lila…" he said warningly but unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. "You going to tell me you brought me breakfast?"

He pushed himself out from underneath the Chrysler and the smile slowly faded from his face. Millicent was staring down at him.

"Hello, baby. On your own?"

With a swift and fluid movement, he got to his feet and stared at her. In heels, she was easily as tall as he was and her eyes were bright and boring into his.

"Mrs Rowntree," he acknowledged and she made a scoffing noise.

"Millicent. I keep telling you."

She was between him and the door. The only door. He could skirt round the Chrysler and she might not be quick enough to head him off… He stopped the thought. Ridiculous. He told himself to stand his ground.

"Can I help you, Mrs Rowntree?"

Neat little teeth smiled at him and he swore he could hear the _"I just bet you can, baby," _even though no words were spoken. Ridiculous be damned. He strode over to the bench and picked up a rag, wiping the grease from his hands.

"Brought my car in," Millicent explained. "It's making a nasty noise. You think you can have a look at it?"

"Sure."

"You want me to wait?"

"No." A little too quickly, a little too forcefully. "No," he said again, his voice back under control. "You can pick it up later, Mrs Rowntree."

"Alright." Millicent looked amused. "I have some shopping to do. Three hours?"

Rusty nodded. He'd have the job done in half the time.

* * *

As Sam walked back through the door an hour later, Rusty felt tension leave him that he hadn't realised was there.

"That Millicent Rowntree's car?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Rusty straightened up from underneath the hood. "Making a noise apparently."

"Tracked it down?"

Rusty shook his head. And he had been trying very hard.

"Well, last year it was the bracket for the tailpipe. You might want to check that out."

"Thanks." Heartfelt.

"I'll brew up." Sam busied himself with the kettle. "Thirsty work trailing out to Alison's and back."

Rusty dropped down underneath the car and listened to Sam as he worked.

"Had she run out of gas?"

"Nah. Battery was flat."

There. He'd found it. Just as Sam said. He sighed with relief and then caught himself and grimaced.

"Looking forward to the do next weekend," Sam said. "Good of Saul and Annie to throw a party for Beryl."

"Yeah."

And underneath the car, Rusty suddenly shivered and he wasn't sure why.

* * *

Beryl's fortieth had somehow become Annie's responsibility. Beryl had brought herself round for tea and Annie and Saul and Rusty had sat through a conversation that had turned to Beryl's impending birthday. There had been an awkward moment where she had asked Annie not to make a fuss in a way that said she was expecting some sort of fuss. After she'd gone, Annie had tentatively asked Saul if they might throw a party for her and Rusty knew that while Saul would cheerfully let Beryl go hang, he would do anything for Annie.

All of which led to a warm, sunny June day and an orchard full of tables of sandwiches and savoury snacks and salads and cold meats and cakes and wonderful fruit pies.

"You don't have to be here," Annie had said. "I'm sure you have somewhere else you'd rather be."

Oh, he did. But Lila was working and in any case, he was staying. Because although the guest list included people like Marty and Sam that Annie and Saul would like to have in their home, there was also Beryl, the reluctant birthday girl, and there was the one person Beryl would expect to be there: Millicent. And as uneasy as he felt around Millicent, Rusty knew how she got to Saul and Annie and he wanted to be able to offer support if needed or run distraction or maybe just throw a glass of wine over her if she became too obnoxious.

The party was well underway and the guests appeared to be enjoying themselves: the garden was full of men, women and even a few young children. Saul and Annie had invited as many people as they could think of, partly to make sure there was good attendance for Beryl and with unspoken agreement to dilute Millicent.

Rusty caught sight of Sam with a carefully balanced heap of food on a plate.

"Nothing like home cooking, Rusty," he winked.

Marty was there too, tall and rangy. His eyes had scanned the crowd when he'd arrived as if looking for someone and then Saul had greeted him with a beer.

"Everything OK?" Rusty heard Saul ask as the pair of them walked by and Marty had nodded.

"All dismissed. Thank God."

"Real cause for celebration," Saul grinned and then they were gone.

* * *

Annie was having a less convivial time of it. Beryl had arrived to polite applause and her mouth had immediately wrinkled.

"Really, Annie," she said crossly. "I told you I didn't want any fuss."

Millicent, who had come with Beryl, had leaned forward to kiss the air beside Annie's cheek.

"Annie, darling. What a simply charming get together. You do have a knack for throwing these quaint little parties."

Annie's mouth tightened into a smile.

"No Lucy?" Millicent looked round.

"No. No Lucy."

"Oh..." Millicent managed to sound disappointed and delighted at the same time. "I expect she's got a very full social life. Can't blame her for not wanting to bother with a small town do."

"She hardly knows Beryl," Annie pointed out.

Millicent smiled and gestured at the crowd. "It seems to me that you've invited people who are more your friends than Beryl's anyway. I'm sure one more wouldn't have mattered."

Annie blinked at her.

Beryl gave a heavy sigh. "Shall we find something to drink, Millicent?"

They walked away and Annie exhaled slowly. She could do with a drink too.

* * *

Somehow, and Rusty was really not certain how, he had acquired a fan club. Three young girls, all of them about eleven, were standing a little way away, soft drinks and straws in hand. Ponytail, bunches and plaits. There were looks and giggles and Rusty couldn't decide whether it was annoying or amusing. Probably both.

He chatted to Sam and Marty and he noticed with relief he'd never admit to that Millicent didn't appear to be looking his way at all. Too busy standing slightly apart with Beryl and looking on. And he was pleased that Annie had the excuse of being hostess so that she wasn't tied to the pair of them.

* * *

The party wore on.

"Excuse me."

Rusty turned round and whatever Ponytail was going to ask, he would never know. Because there was a jolted elbow and a glass of red wine and apology from Sam and Rusty's shirt was soaked and Ponytail disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

"It's OK," Rusty said quickly with a smile before Sam could apologise again. "I'll go change."

He moved away from the group of men and crossed to the back door of the kitchen and in. His thoughts were on changing and getting back to Sam's stories and he had no idea that events had been witnessed and actions predicted.

Rusty climbed the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it over his head as he went. He headed to his room and dropped the shirt on the floor, then opened his wardrobe door and spent a moment deciding. Blue…white…silver…

* * *

"Annie, is there any food here which isn't loaded with fat or sugar?" Beryl was frowning down at the refreshments on offer.

"It's your birthday," Annie smiled at her sister. "I think you're allowed to eat what you like on your birthday."

Beryl looked at her. "I intend to. That's why I'm asking."

"Oh…" Annie gave a helpless shrug. "I'm sorry…I…"

"Millicent was right," Beryl sighed and Annie frowned.

"Where is Millicent?"

"She went to freshen up," Beryl said. "Can I just get something plain and simple to eat?"

"I could do you a green salad," Annie offered and took the toss of Beryl's head as assent. "I'll be back in a moment."

She was heading towards the kitchen when there was a tug at her skirts and a little girl with bunches was standing, hesitant, weight shifting from one foot to the other.

"It's Ellen, isn't it?" Annie smiled and there was a nod. "What do you want, dear?"

"Hazel's really sorry, Mrs Bloom."

"She is? Whatever for?"

"She only wanted to ask him his name. We dared her. We didn't mean him to get the drink all over him."

"Who…?" Annie was at a loss.

"The boy. With the fair hair."

"Rusty?"

"Rusty…" Ellen said the name with reverence and then nodded and the giggle was only a little way from the surface. "He had to go and change. But Hazel didn't mean it, Mrs Bloom."

"I'm sure she didn't," Annie caught a glimpse of the crush and kept a straight face with difficulty. "And Rusty won't be cross. Tell Hazel that."

Ellen beamed at her and then scooted away. Annie watched her go and smiled as she saw Ellen reveal the newly discovered name to her two friends. She would enjoy sharing with Saul later.

She walked into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door. Green salad. She could do that. And when Rusty came down from changing, she would let him know how popular he was.

* * *

Blue, Rusty decided and reached in and pulled it off its hanger, slipping his arms into it. He shut the door to the wardrobe and found Millicent standing there, shoes in one hand.

"You look positively yummy, you know that, baby?"

He blinked at her. Words would not come.

She dropped the shoes and stretched out a hand, her fingers moving down his chest.

"Mrs Rowntree…" he found his voice.

"Millicent, baby, my name is Millicent."

And suddenly, she was closer and she was pushing him back against the wardrobe and her hands were busy, running over his body. He tried to disengage himself, to slip to one side or the other but she pressed herself up against him.

"Please," he said and this wasn't happening, this was laughable, this was ridiculous and this was _not_ happening.

It wasn't happening. He put his hand on her shoulders and pushed her away firmly, moving them both away from the wardrobe. Her fingers moved to his arms and dug in deep and there was a silent ballet partnering horror and opportunism as they moved across the floor.

"Please, Mrs Rowntree," he tried again and she laughed.

"Millicent, baby. I insist."

"Let go of me," Rusty told her and he was moving from numbness of shock to an urgent need to escape. His grip got tighter and Millicent let out a breathy little gasp.

"Let go!" he said again, his teeth clenched.

In answer, her legs wrapped round his and she twined and tripped so that they staggered and fell in a tangle on to his bed and somehow Rusty found himself lying with Millicent astride him and her fingers were undoing his belt and he started fighting in earnest.

"Come on, baby, you don't need to pretend," Millicent said.

Her eyes were gleaming and her lips were parted and she was strong and she was tenacious and she might want this but he didn't and he was never going to let anyone use him like this again. With all his strength, he managed to swing her on to her back and reverse their positions but as he made to get up and away, she grabbed hold of his wrists tightly.

"Come on," she breathed. "I'll never tell Saul and Annie. It'll be our little secret."

"What will, Millicent?"

Annie was stood in the doorway. Relief flooded through Rusty and then he looked down in horror at Millicent beneath him as she said, "Thank goodness, Annie. I really don't know what came over Robert."

He climbed off the bed and gracelessly away from her and she got to her feet and smoothed down her skirts.

"Someone's watched 'The Graduate' too many times," Millicent chided. "Or maybe has had a little too much wine."

Words would not come. He saw the lie she was spinning and the truth she was twisting and he couldn't say a thing.

She drew level with Annie. "Don't blame yourself, Annie. It's probably just hormones."

There was a whipcrack in the air as Annie's hand connected with Millicent's face.

"Get out," Annie said, her eyes ablaze. "Get out! And don't ever try anything like this again!"

Openmouthed, hand on her cheek, Millicent nodded and slipped from the room. Rusty watched her go and then he moved to Annie and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Annie, I swear-"

"I know, Rusty." And her voice was low and definite. "I absolutely know."

And because Annie was standing and shaking and full of emotion that he didn't completely understand and because she was Annie, he pulled her to him and hugged her.

"Like that is it?" Millicent was on the stairs and they both turned and frowned at her. "Poor Saul." And then she was gone.

"Saul...oh!" Annie pulled away and she was off and running after her and puzzled, Rusty followed, buttoning his shirt as he went. He didn't understand Annie's urgency because surely Saul would just-

Saul laughed. Long and loud and heartily.

"Oh, Millicent. What have you been drinking? I swear nothing's on offer that's that strong."

Rusty let out a sigh and wondered what he had been worried about. It wasn't like it was true.

Millicent had taken Saul to one side and Rusty and Annie had caught up with her just before her bombshell. The four of them were standing apart and the conversation was between them and it was all so ridiculous and he wanted to laugh as loudly as Saul. And then he caught sight of Annie, her face white and pleading and Millicent was hesitating and then her hand went up to rub her cheek and Annie's shoulders sagged.

"Laugh all you want," Millicent hissed at Saul. "Bet you laughed when you heard about Jack, too."

The amusement stayed on Saul's face but his eyes travelled to Annie and she was busy looking anywhere but at him. Rusty could see that whatever the story was with Jack, Annie and Saul were on nowhere near the same page.

"I'm going," Millicent announced. "Lovely party, Annie. Have fun clearing things up."

She swept away and Rusty saw Annie stare at Saul and her mouth opened and shut tight: Saul was holding her gaze and he was frowning and his eyes were full of sudden hesitation.

"Annie, where's my salad?"

Beryl. Demanding and irritable and Rusty saw that Annie was so very grateful for the interruption.

"Coming, Beryl."

She disappeared back to the kitchen and Rusty followed.

"Are you OK, Annie?" he asked as she put the final touches to the plate and she looked up with a start.

"Oh, Rusty dear, I'm fine. I'm fine, really. And I should be asking you…" Her hand went over her mouth and then she put a hand up to his face. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." He was. Unpleasant though the episode had been, it was over.

"I'm so sorry, Rusty. I'm so very sorry. Oh, that woman! Did she hurt you?"

"No, no…"

"You were just such a long time…and one of the little girls…and I thought it was funny and sweet and…I had no idea, Rusty. Oh…"

"It's fine," he told her again. "Nothing happened."

And Rusty didn't quite understand the look in her eyes. But he wanted to make things easier between her and Saul and he couldn't think that recounting the scene in his room would help matters.

"Saul doesn't need to know," he said and she gave a little half-gasp and a sickly smile and nodded.

* * *

Rusty spent the rest of the party alternately watching Annie and watching Saul watching Annie. He could feel something brewing.

* * *

The guests were gone, the dishes were cleared and the tension in the air was palpable.

"Enough!" Saul dropped a plate on the side in the kitchen with a clatter and both Rusty and Annie jumped. "You talk to me, Annie."

Annie concentrated on the bubbles and the plates in the washing up bowl in front of her. "It's nothing, Saul, it's just Millicent."

Rusty's fingers tightened on the teatowel. She wasn't selling it. Not by a long way.

Saul put his hand on her shoulder and span her round. "Tell me, Annie. Damn it!"

"Please, Saul, it's nothing," she said again, water dripping off her fingers.

Rusty saw Saul's face tighten. "No secrets, Annie. Ever," he said softly.

She couldn't meet his eyes. She couldn't meet Saul's eyes and Rusty was suddenly aghast.

"Saul, I think I should-"

"You stay put," Saul instructed, not looking at him.

"Saul," Annie was pleading. "Don't...don't make me...please..."

"Tell me what it is that Millicent knows that I don't."

The words were sharp and angry and he pulled her roughly to him, his hands on her arms and she couldn't look anywhere near his face.

"Tell me, Annie."

"I don't- Saul!"

Saul's face was ugly with rage and Rusty found it difficult to look at him.

"Saul!"

"Stay out of it, Rusty."

"Please, Saul!" Annie was begging him now. "I don't...please!"

"Jack," Saul reminded her and she gave a tiny moan. "He was your beau before Beryl's."

"I went out with him a couple of times, Saul, I told you. He wasn't for me-"

"Went to work for him, didn't you?"

"It was a mistake," she breathed.

"I know I'm not…I mean, he was always so much more…" Saul's face was numb with pain and Rusty could see the pain reflected in Annie at the mere suggestion. "Still have feelings for him?"

"Saul!"

Rusty saw the question Saul didn't want to ask. He didn't want him to ask it either. He was too afraid of the response. And still it came.

"Did you..." Saul swallowed. "Did you have an affair with him, Annie?"

There was silence and Rusty watched Annie's expression, miserable and tight and he saw the denial come to her lips and fall away again and her face cleared as if she'd thought of something.

"You'd forgive me, wouldn't you?" she said softly and she still wasn't looking at him. "You'd forgive me, Saul."

And it was suddenly less a question and more of a statement and there was hell on Saul's face but there was also the answer.

"Yes," he whispered and she nodded.

She took a deep breath and raised her eyes and met Saul's. "I had an affair with Jack Claverson."

"No..." It came from Rusty. Full of disbelief and incomprehension.

Saul's face crumpled. "You slept with him?"

"I...I...yes. Yes, I did."

"Here? Oh, God, Annie...here?"

"We...I...it was just a fling, Saul. It didn't mean anything."

"How many times?" And there was a snarl that Rusty had never heard from Saul.

"A couple...I...we...please, Saul!" Tears were streaming down Annie's face.

"You let him...oh, Annie...you let him..."

Saul was shaking and his fingers tightened on Annie and Rusty was suddenly seeing something else. Because Annie was still Annie.

"Why?" he demanded and they both turned their heads as if remembering he was still there. "Why are you lying?" he asked again and there was fury in his eyes. "Can't you see what you're doing to him?"

And Saul looked at her as if seeing her properly.

"He's right. You can never lie. What aren't you telling me?"

"I told you-"

"What's the secret, Annie?"

"I said that-"

"What does Millicent know that I don't?"

"Saul, please-"

"Saul, you're hurting her-"

Saul wasn't listening. His grip on Annie was iron and his eyes demanded the truth and Annie was staring at him, sobbing wretchedly.

"Did you _love _him, Annie?" So much pain. So much rawness.

"No!" Ripped from her and passionate.

"Then, what-"

"He tried to force himself on me!"

She gave a huge uncontrollable sob and choke and Rusty saw Saul's face drain of colour and his hands drop down to his side. Annie pressed the back of her hand across her mouth as if trying to stop the words she had already uttered. Her eyes were wide and beseeching and Saul just stared at her.

"Tell me," he said and his voice was empty and cold and distant.

* * *

Rusty had left them sat on the floor of the kitchen and now he was slumped down on the floor in the hall. Suddenly some of Annie's earlier reactions made a whole load more sense.

* * *

They were sat in the corner of the kitchen, Annie's back against the cupboard door, Saul's back against the wall. They were close but not touching and there was emptiness and ache and fear between them.

"Tell me," Saul said again and Annie sighed.

* * *

_She has been nervous about the little job that Jack has offered her. It's been years since she typed or took dictation and though she's always had a good head when it comes to figures, she's never actually kept books before. But Saul has been pleased that Jack has suggested it._

"_I like the idea that you have something outside the house to do," he says to her. "And when I'm away, I like the thought that you have something to occupy your time."_

_She never struggles to fill the hours but she too thinks it would be nice to have a little part-time job with someone where it doesn't matter if she takes a while to pick things up or if she makes a mess of something. Jack always has a ready smile; he's full of easy charm and doesn't take life too seriously. He is never going to yell at her for mistakes._

_There's the other reason she is slightly hesitant about working with Jack. The awkwardness over the fact that he has married Beryl after dating her is gone. But Annie can remember the dates themselves, can remember him wrapping her in his arms and kissing her without warning. It should have been romantic but there was an edge and a self-interest and she hadn't liked it. But that is long ago and two marriages away. And Jack is older now. Young men can be selfish._

_So she takes the job and Jack is all things funny and charming and makes her laugh and she finds herself smiling and looking forward to the couple of hours twice a week over at Beryl and Jack's. And Saul is pleased she is happy._

_Beryl is usually at home although her health is often fragile and she has to lie down or take to her bed._

"_The doctors don't know what to make of me," she sighs as she lies on the sofa and Jack reaches over the back of it and holds her hand._

"_My poor little fairy," he says and she smiles up at him and Annie, sitting in an easy chair, sipping a cup of tea, thinks that Jack is a miracle-worker._

_Millicent often calls round. She is always dressed in the height of fashion and she is at pains to tell both Beryl and Annie (and Jack, since he is usually present) about her hectic social life. She is in between husbands and she is making the most of being single._

"_Nothing wrong with being attached," Millicent smiles, "but just the sheer freedom of no ties, no complications. No strings."_

_Millicent is sitting on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, swinging her foot. Her eyes are on Jack and Annie sees and wonders and frowns and then scolds herself and tells herself how wrong she is._

_Some weeks in and Jack finishes dictation and smiles at her._

"_Saul away?"_

"_Yes. He's away on business for a couple of weeks."_

_The smile on Jack's face becomes a little more defined._

_A few days later and Millicent is there and Beryl extends an invitation to dinner to them both. _

"_Should be fun," Millicent says, all smiles. "I'll call round for you."_

_Dinner_ is _fun. Beryl has gone with simple food and has done it well. Millicent has told stories that are less about the vicious and more about the funny. Jack has poured wine and joked and there has been laughter and she has enjoyed herself – more than she thought she would do._

_Beryl takes the plates away and Annie helps her. _

"_It was a lovely meal," Annie tells her and Beryl nods._

"_It was," her older sister agrees and Annie smiles to herself because there is more than a hint of self-praise in there. _

_They walk back and find Millicent and Jack have moved into the lounge and there is some conversation between them, Millicent with bright eyes and Jack with a smile and there is a hardness and a brittleness in both of them that Annie doesn't understand. There is something…_

"_Here," Jack holds out a glass of wine to Annie._

"_Oh, I've had too much already," she laughs, shaking her head._

"_Here," he insists and presses the glass into her hand and his head half-turns towards Millicent._

"_You don't look very well, Beryl," Millicent frowns. "Are you feeling alright?"_

"_Well…" Beryl hesitates. "Actually, I've got such a headache. I think I'll go to bed."_

_Jack takes her hand in his and kisses it. _

"_Sleep well, fairy. I'll be up in a little while."_

_Millicent gives Jack a long look and there is something…and then she turns to Beryl._

"_Let me come up with you and get you settled," she says and links her arm through Beryl's and leads her away as Annie calls "Goodnight" after her._

_Jack smiles at Annie. "She suffers dreadfully, you know."_

"_Oh, I know," Annie agrees. "She's always been-"_

"_-delicate," Jack supplies and Annie nods._

"_Yes." She sips the wine and then puts the glass down on the table. Really, she's had enough. More than enough. Just that her glass has always seemed to be topped up and she has wanted to be sociable. She closes her eyes and presses her hand to her forehead._

"_Are you OK?" Jack is solicitous._

"_I'm just…I'm not that used to the wine," she admits, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Saul and I don't drink that often."_

"_You look very pretty tonight," Jack tells her and she frowns and smiles at the same time because it is a compliment but it's the wrong end of the evening and there's something…_

"_Thanks. Saul bought me this dress a couple of-"_

"_It suits you. It shows your figure off nicely."_

_She can feel herself flushing. "Thanks," she says again, uncertainly and the something is there again…_

"_And you have such a nice figure, Annie. Saul's a lucky man."_

"_Oh, I think I'm a lucky woman," she corrects him. Saul is a safe topic. "Saul is-"_

"_Saul's not here." Jack is standing in front of her now and he places his own glass down on the table and she watches him do it, not comprehending._

"_No," she begins, "he's-"_

_She doesn't finish because Jack grabs her arms and his mouth is on hers and she stands in shock for a couple of seconds, tasting alcohol and a foreign fierceness and then she reacts and pushes against his chest, pulling her face away from his._

"_Jack! Please!" Wide-eyed and disbelieving._

"_I've wanted you for so long, Annie," he tells her and as he speaks, he's still holding her arms, still imprisoning her. "You must have known how I felt."_

"_Jack, that was ages ago!"  
_

"_Not for me, Annie, never for me."_

"_Let go," she thinks to say the words and she is as serious and as calm and as controlled as she can be because Jack's been drinking and this is the drink talking, the drink acting. "Let go of me."_

"_You don't mean that," he says and she stares at him in shock. He believes it. She knows he's convinced himself that she wants him._

"_I do, I do mean it, Jack, let go of me, think of Beryl, think of Saul," and the words fall out of her, desperate and on top of each other and he hesitates for the briefest of seconds and then he smiles the same careless smile that so many women love._

"_Beryl's upstairs. Saul's not here. You don't have to worry."_

_And then he is dragging her over to the sofa and she is struggling, she is fighting with all her might but she is no match for Jack and he isn't listening to "Please!" and "Jack!" and he isn't paying attention to her fists beating against his chest and he doesn't care about the tears of shock that are starting to pour down her cheeks._

"_You really don't want me," he laughs at her._

"_Yes," she tells him, trying to work through the sentence, "no…I…"_

"_You don't know what you want. You should have stuck with me, Annie."_

_His mouth is on hers again, rough and violent, and his tongue is inside her mouth and then he moves down her neck and he pulls at the front of her dress and she can hear the cotton tearing and his lips are rampaging over her and she can't stop him, she can't make this stop and now, his hands are underneath her skirt, lifting her up, ripping away material and his hands are where they shouldn't be and this can't be happening, it can't be happening and "Please" and "Jack" get more impassioned but there's no stopping him and – God, no! – she can feel him, hot and hard and determined –_

"_Hold still," he snaps at her, "stop squirming."_

_She fights as hard as she can, her nails raking his cheeks, coming close to his eye and he pulls back and backhands her across her face and she cries out and glimpses a figure in the doorway - even as Jack is trying and she is twisting underneath him and Jack's breath is on her neck, his fingers are digging into her thighs and he is trying and she isn't even sure why he hasn't succeeded - and she sees a figure watching them and her first thought is safety and relief and that this must stop now but then she realises with horror that the figure is not going to do a damn thing._

"_MILLICENT!" she screams and Jack looks up and pulls back far enough for her to slip on to the floor in a sobbing heap._

_Millicent walks into the room and Annie whimpers, tears flowing and somewhere she hears:_

"_This is what you wanted? This…_child?"

_Jack is straightening his clothes and he stands up to confront Millicent._

"_You just don't get it, do you, Millicent? I just don't want you."_

"_No…you want that." And the scorn in Millicent's voice is immense. "You want me to walk away and let you-"_

"_No!" she finds her voice and scrambles to her feet, her dress hanging around her. "Millicent!"_

_Millicent gives her a look for the first time and shaking, Annie takes a step back and away from the look in Millicent's eyes: contempt beyond belief._

"_I'll take you home. Get your coat."_

_She sits in Millicent's car, her coat and arms wrapped round her, trembling, as they drive in silence. They park outside her house and Millicent looks at her and Annie feels she has to say something._

"_Thank you," she whispers. "Thank you, Millicent. If you hadn't…if you…if you hadn't…"_

_Millicent's mouth twists. "I wasn't sure if I should interrupt."_

_Annie blinks at her. "What?"_

"_I didn't hear 'No'. I heard an awful lot of 'Please'."_

_Annie gives a little choking gasp._

"_What happened, Annie? You drink a little too much, flirt a little too much…? With a man like Jack? Couldn't you handle the consequences?"_

_For the longest moment, she can't say a thing. And then:_

"_Don't tell Saul," she whispers and Millicent shakes her head and looks away._

_Somehow, she's made it through the front door and up the stairs and into the bedroom. She stares at the mess looking back at her from the full length mirror. Hair and make-up, wild. Eyes, red and bewildered. Her mouth is swollen and there's a red mark on her cheek where Jack has hit her and bruises down her arms and…trembling, she steps out of her torn dress and there are bruises on her thighs and she thinks once more of Jack's weight, pinning her down and about him touching her where only Saul…abruptly, she runs to the bathroom and throws up._

_She showers and scrubs her skin and wants to feel clean again._

_In the morning, she rises and dresses in long sleeves and long skirts and she tries not to think about what she's done to encourage Jack. She must have done something… _

_She picks up the phone to try to reach Saul. She wants to hear his voice even though she doesn't know what she is going to say. The trouble is that Saul might be able to tell. He _will_ be able to tell. He'll know as soon as he hears her voice that something is up. _

_She holds the receiver without dialling for the longest time, hesitating. Last night…she'd drunk more than she should have done and maybe she'd given out signals that she shouldn't have done…maybe Millicent is right…_

_The doorbell goes and makes her jump. She doesn't answer. She doesn't want to see anyone. It goes again a couple more times and there is knocking and then the sound of footsteps going away. __When she is sure they are gone, she cracks the door open. An enormous bouquet of yellow roses is sat on the front step with a card. As if in a dream, she picks the card up to read._

"_Still friends?" _

_It isn't signed. _

_She drops the roses in the trash can._

_

* * *

_

She drinks coffee. Lots of coffee. She looks at the phone in the hall and she aches so much to pick it up and dial the number that Saul has given her so that she can reach him if she needs to. And as she stares at it, the phone rings.

"_Saul?" she asks with a mix of hope and fragility as she picks up the receiver._

"_Annie." It isn't Saul. "I just wanted to make sure you got home safely." It's very much not Saul. "I hope you're OK today. Did you get my flowers?"_

_She hangs up. The phone rings again, once, twice, forever. She stares at it and doesn't answer._

_

* * *

_

Later and she has_ to speak to Saul. She needs to. Even if he hears…even if he guesses… The man named Carter answers the phone._

"_Saul's Annie?" he asks. "How did you know?"_

"_How…?"_

"_Marty's with him. Hang up and I'll get Marty to call you."_

_Wordlessly, shaking, she does and when the phone rings, she snatches it up and hears Marty at the other end._

_"He's going to be OK, Annie. He's going to be fine." The first words, designed to reassure. _

"_What happened?" she whispers._

"_Little complication. I don't know details. But he's well enough to travel. I'll bring him home tonight."_

"_Can I talk to him?" she asks and Marty hesitates._

"_Sorry, Annie. He's out for the count at the moment. But he'll be OK. It's all going to be fine."_

_Saul arrives home courtesy of Marty. He half stumbles into the house and he is weak and out of it and flashes her a warm smile and then his face creases with pain. Between them, Marty and Annie get him up to bed where he collapses into deep sleep._

_Annie stares down at her worst nightmare and wonders when events of the previous evening ever got so high up the list of dread._

"_He'll be OK," Marty says again for what seems like the fortieth time. "He needs sleep and he needs you."_

_She nods. Saul is her priority._

_By the time Saul is well again, Annie knows she is going to say nothing about what happened with Jack. It seems far away and unimportant and the opportunity to bring it up seems to have receded. She buries the memory and the guilt and tells herself sternly that Saul has had far worse to contend with and that he doesn't need to hear her woes. _

_Saul doesn't need to know._

_After all, it's not as if anything happened._

* * *

She finished and she sat looking at Saul and misery was in both their eyes.

"I'm sorry," Annie said. "I'm so, so sorry, Saul. I never meant to hurt you."

Saul stared at her and then got to his feet, wordlessly.

"Saul…?" Annie looked up at him puzzled. He headed out to the hall and she clambered up and went after him. "Saul?" More urgently, because there is nothing being said, no reaction.

Rusty saw Saul move straight past him and out the front door and then as he stood up, Annie came past him.

"What's happening?" he asked her and she gave him a helpless look.

They moved to the front door and then Annie gave a cry and pelted down the path because Saul was shutting the door of the Dodge. Before she could reach him he was driving away and Annie sank to her knees on the path in despair.

Rusty helped her up.

"Where's he gone?"

"I don't know," she sobbed. "Rusty, I don't know."

There was so much pain and he didn't have a clue how to make any of it better. Saul would know.

"I'll find him," he said.

* * *

He drove off the way that Saul had been headed and wondered how he was going to make good on his promise to Annie. Where would Saul have gone? Marty's house lay in the other direction and in any case, Saul seemed to be heading out of town…

It took some time.

* * *

Gradually, Saul became aware of the presence behind him, leaning up against the back of the bench.

"You walk up from the Western Union office or down from the picture house?"

Rusty walked round to sit down beside him.

"What are you doing here, Saul?" he asked quietly. "Annie needs you."

The laughter from Saul was hollow.

"Jack Claverson," Saul said. "He was easy to like, you know. I liked him. We went to the races a couple of times together. We went drinking. We had him and Beryl round for Thanksgiving."

An image swam across his mind of Annie bringing in a roast turkey to applause and the smile was wide on Annie's face and Jack was watching her… He closed his eyes. All the times Jack had looked at Annie. And none of the looks had been innocent. He wiped a hand over his mouth.

"Jack. Waiting and waiting… And _Millicent_… Annie doesn't even see…" Saul sighed. "How can Annie bear to look at me, Rusty? How can she want to be with me? I vowed to look after her, to protect her… Twice, she's needed me. Twice, I should have been here."

The guilt twisted up Saul's face. "She had to deal with this on her own. All this time. All this time and… Where was I, Rusty?"

He didn't see Rusty close his eyes briefly. He didn't hear Rusty breathe out slowly. But then Rusty started talking, started answering the rhetorical and he had to listen.

"I'll tell you where you weren't, Saul. You weren't out drinking. You weren't out gambling. You weren't out getting further and further into the men who smiled every time you lost. You weren't using your fists or shooting up or hurting with words and looks and…" Rusty swallowed. "You and Annie, Saul. Whatever you've got, it's real. Whatever you've got, I hope I find it someday. And right now? Right now, Annie needs you. You should be with her."

* * *

He'd told Saul where he was going and then left Saul walking back into the house and to Annie. They needed time and space and he found himself knocking softly on Lila's door.

"Hi," she grinned and reached out and pulled him inside, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I began to think you were never coming to see me."

"Lila…I just want somewhere to crash. Is that OK?"

There was a flicker of hesitation and he knew why. They didn't have a relationship as such. Any reason other than the obvious was walking dangerously close to forbidden territory.

"Sure," she said eventually.

Later, he lay beside her, listening to her breathing steadily and the events of the afternoon seemed far away and unimportant. Saul and Annie were what mattered.

* * *

Annie had seen the lights of the cars and had opened the door and Saul didn't hesitate. He stepped into the hall and drew her into his arms and held her tightly.

"I'm sorry, Annie. I'm sorry." He whispered it over and over again. "Please forgive me. Please."

He sank down to his knees in front of her and felt her hands stroking his hair.

"Saul…" She pulled him back to his feet and they looked at each other.

"We had them round for dinner afterwards," Saul said and felt ridiculous and felt this could be the wrong thing to say but needed to say it anyway.

Annie's eyes dropped.

"I told you you were wrong not to carry on with the little job."

She shook her head helplessly.

"If I'd known, Annie…if I'd _known_…"

If he'd known, Jack Claverson would still be dead. Just that his death would have been earlier and not so much from natural causes.

Annie gave a little half-shrug and raised her gaze to his.

"I love you, Saul. So much. So very much."

"God, Annie, I-" Saul broke off, a thought suddenly occurring. "It's not Beryl that Millicent mentions Jack in front of, is it?"

Annie seemed to want to look away but she kept her eyes on his and he saw the misery within.

"Did she even have an affair with him?" Saul asked incredulously.

"She wanted to," Annie said shortly. "And she's very good at rewriting things to the way she wants them to be."

Saul's fingers locked into hers and he kissed her tenderly and felt the answering kiss, gentle and loving.

"Annie, I adore you. I'd do anything not to see you hurt," he told her and she smiled and he knew it was because she felt the same and he wrapped his arms back round her and they stood for a while.

* * *

The phone rang as they stood there, still embracing and Saul reached out a hand to answer it.

"Saul, it's Marty. You need to get round here now."

"What is it?"

"I can't explain over the phone. Please just get here. Where's Rusty?"

"He's gone to Lila's."

"OK. Just…just get here. And bring Annie."

* * *

Marty opened the door and Saul saw apprehension and worry and tightness and his first thought was that the hospital enquiry had opened up again. Marty stepped out of his house and pulled the door to behind him.

"Millicent's here," he said abruptly and Annie's hand flew up to her mouth.

"She is?" The snarl on Saul's face was immediate.

"This afternoon at the party. Millicent says Rusty attacked her."

"What?" Saul was incredulous.

Marty took a deep breath. "Is there any chance that she might be telling the truth?"

"No!" Indignantly, Saul turned to Annie and he saw her flush. Marty saw it too.

"You know something?"

Annie sighed apologetically. "He didn't want me to say anything," she muttered and Saul couldn't help the way his mouth knotted down into a tight little line.

"Millicent's story is that he grabbed her and dragged her into his bedroom."

"No," Annie was definite. "Rusty had to go and change his shirt."

"The wine." Saul remembered and Marty nodded.

"She followed him up there. I went to find him to tell him…oh, it doesn't matter. They were on the bed and…well, he was on top of her but she had his _wrists,_ Saul. She was holding on to him and the look on her face…and the look on Rusty's face…oh, Saul…" she broke off. "It was all Millicent," she added savagely. "And then she got up, cool as you like…I slapped her," she said wonderingly.

"You did?" Marty exclaimed.

"Hard."

Saul kissed her cheek and then turned back to Marty. "So what's she doing here?"

"She wants to see you, Annie. I'm sorry."

"It's OK," Annie told Saul before he could object. "It's OK."

"I'm coming with you," he said darkly and she smiled her thanks.

Millicent was sitting on the couch in Marty's lounge, still wearing her summer dress, a cardigan around her shoulders, as the three of them walked in.

"What's this about, Millicent?" Saul snapped.

She looked up and saw Annie's hand in his and smiled. "Oh, you made up. Sweet."

Saul bared his teeth and took a step forward. "After Jack? After what you did? I ought to-"

"Actually, Saul, I think you'll find in my time I've saved Annie's life and her honour. You were notable by your absence on both occasions."

The colour drained from Saul and Annie's fingers squeezed his. Millicent went on.

"I've been telling Marty what a troublesome afternoon I had at the hands of young Robert. That boy really has no clue about how I can fight back, does he?"

"He didn't attack you!" Annie's temper was showing in her words. "You just-"

Millicent shrugged off her cardigan. The tops of her arms were marked where fingers had gripped her tightly. The other three stared as they were supposed to.

"I'd hate to have to tell the authorities about Robert's indiscreet behaviour."

Annie's eyes were wide and Saul tensed.

"It's your word against his, Millicent," Marty said quietly.

"Yes," Millicent agreed. "I wonder which of us they'll believe."

"What do you want?" Saul asked, cutting to the chase and Millicent's teeth appeared in the neat little smile that all of them recognised.

"Not much. I simply want things to stay as they are. I don't want anything being said that might harm my reputation."

Saul snorted and Millicent smiled at him.

"Have you finished? Good. Like I said, I want things as they were. I don't expect to suddenly not be invited round to your house, for example."

"You stay away from him!" Annie's eyes were flashing. "Don't you lay a finger on him!"

"You come near him and I'll-"

"Please!" Millicent scoffed. "I thought he was more of a man than he is. My mistake. He's nothing but a feeble boy."

"By God, you're lucky you're a woman," Saul told her fiercely. "I should have laid you out by now. He's stronger than you'll ever know!"

Millicent's eyes were bright.

"You have a point. Maybe I ought to tell Beryl what happened," she mused. "I should warn her."

Before Saul and Annie could react, Marty stepped in between them and Millicent.

"So what you're saying, Millicent," and his eyes begged Saul and Annie not to say a thing, "is that in order for you not to spread your account of what happened, you just want Saul and Annie not to tell their version and you want things-"

"As they were before any of this happened. Yes." Millicent beamed at him and then looked at Saul and Annie. "I'll take your word."

"Alright," Annie said and reluctantly, Saul nodded agreement.

"Thank you. Oh!" As if she just remembered. "And I'd like an apology."

Saul's face was thunderous. "From-"

"From Annie. She hit me."

"I wish she'd hit you harder," Saul spat.

Millicent tutted. "The police station is still open at this time of night-"

"I'm sorry, Millicent." It was quick and it sounded genuine. "I'm sorry I slapped you."

"Annie, no!"

"Thank you, Annie. I forgive you."

Saul ground his teeth and Annie's fingers tightened on his. Millicent got to her feet.

"I'll see you Thursday, Annie? Beryl's organising a whist drive, remember?"

"Yes," Annie said and her voice was distant enough to make Saul look at her. "I remember."

Millicent smiled approval and then Annie went on.

"Alright, Millicent. You want to carry on seeing us, fine. You want to keep me in your social life…I'll stay. I don't want to be there and maybe that's the point but I'll stay."

"Annie!" Saul hissed but she dropped Saul's hand and walked forward till she was face to face with Millicent and she spoke distinctly so that every word carried.

"I'll stay. For Beryl's sake, more than yours, actually, because for all her faults, she is my sister. But I'm warning you if you ever go anywhere near him again, you'd better hope neither Saul nor I find out about it."

And Millicent blinked.

* * *

Rusty slipped away from Lila's in the morning and got home in time for breakfast. He found Annie and Saul sitting at the table and he felt relief because his first question was whether or not they had made things up and they were sitting as close as they ever did. Somehow, that got pushed to one side by the look on their faces.

"What is it?"

"Sit down, Rusty," Saul said gently.

He did so, not understanding and then understanding because Saul's eyes said everything. Rusty glanced at Annie and Saul said, "She didn't tell me."

Saul leaned over and took one of Rusty's hands in his and Rusty read the apology in Saul's eyes.

"We saw Millicent last night. She's threatening to tell her own story about what happened yesterday. She's talking about going to the police."

"Let her," Rusty said at once. "I'm not afraid."

"Rusty, dear, you're seventeen and she's my age."

"Balance of probability is going to come down in her favour," Saul agreed. "We can't take that chance. I don't ever want you ending up behind bars."

Saul's face was tight and Annie looked troubled.

"It's just something Millicent's threatening," Annie said and he could hear that she was trying to be reassuring. "She won't do it."

Rusty could feel the _unless…_

"Unless," he prompted. "What does she want?"

"She wants to smooth things over," Annie said tightly. "Wants things back the way they were."

"Which is why," Saul added heavily, "she's still going to feature in our lives. But you never have to see her again, Rusty." And his eyes were definite on this point and Annie nodded vigorously.

"I'm not going to hide from her," he said quickly. "I'm not frightened of her."

"No," Saul agreed and looked at Annie. "I rather think from now on, she will be frightened of us," he said grimly.

* * *


	20. Trust

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: do I own them? To quote Joey, it's a moo point. No, it's not, actually. I don't.

Chapter Twenty: Trust

* * *

Annie brought coffee and slices of carrot cake out to the orchard where Saul was sitting in the mid-morning shade with his paper. He looked up and she smiled at him and the love inside Saul welled up. The pain of the recent revelation was still sharp and it still twisted him up inside just thinking about the lonely ache of Annie carrying the memory and the horror alone.

_He'd lain in bed and held her and stroked her hair._

"_Annie?" he'd asked eventually and he didn't want to ask the question but he had to know. "Did Jack ever try again?"_

_She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. _

"_No. No, he never did."_

_And Saul could see the absolute truth and the howling subsided a fraction._

"I'm doing a chicken salad for later," Annie said, sitting down in the chair under the tree. "And I'm making a Boston cream pie. It's one of Rusty's favourites."

Rusty. They'd wanted to wrap him up in cotton wool since the incident with Millicent six weeks ago even though Rusty himself seemed to have shrugged it off. Annie had seen Millicent once since, while she was out shopping, and Millicent had been on her best behaviour, polite and charming and Annie had been polite and distant.

"_What was she thinking?" Saul had snarled on the way home from Marty's. "Grabbing him and trying to… In his room, Annie. In his own damn room!"_

"_And lying about it," Annie added, her voice low and shaky. "As if we would believe her."_

The sound of the phone ringing came from inside and Saul stood up and bent down and kissed Annie's hair and went to answer it.

"Saul? It's Carter. You up for a little out of town trip?"

"No." Immediate and definite and he wasn't leaving Annie. Not for a while, not for a long while, probably till just before she noticed. Hopefully, till just before she noticed. "I'm not available at the moment."

"OK." There was disappointed acceptance at the other end of the phone. "Pity. Could have done with another pair of hands."

"How risky?" Saul asked suddenly.

"Well, it's not the main line. Secondary, really. Just want to be thorough. Why?" Curiosity sparking down the other end of the phone. "Rusty?"

"Yes." Out of town and learning from the best and away from Millicent. "Yes."

There was a silence and Saul could picture Carter mulling it over, thinking about what he knew of Rusty and of Saul and of what was needed for the job.

"Alright," came the positive and Saul knew when Carter made his mind up, he would put his weight behind the decision. "He needs to get to my place for the weekend for the briefing."

* * *

It was early evening, Friday. Pulling up outside the large house, Rusty checked the address: he had it right. He sat in the car for a moment and thought of Saul, encouraging and painting the opportunity as good fortune and about belief and trust. He'd wondered a little at the fervency in Saul and also he wondered at the why he was on his own. Not that he was objecting. He didn't need his hand holding. He was just interested.

With a deep breath, he climbed out of the car and walked slowly up the wide, open drive, looking at the security cameras, neatly concealed and seeing the one entrance and imagining the many exits that he didn't know about. He rang the doorbell and Carter answered.

"Good to see you, Rusty. Head on through to the pool and grab yourself a beer. Rod and Stevie are already out there demolishing pizza and we're just waiting for Gianfranco."

Rusty walked through the open plan lounge and out through the patio doors. Stevie and Rod were sitting at a table in the warm sunshine, laughing, Stevie in his open necked shirt and suit and Rod in his casual denim. There was a big pizza box lying open between them and there was a bucket of beers on ice beside them.

Stevie was facing his way and saw him and smiled and raised a beer by way of welcome. Rod twisted round in his seat as Rusty walked up to them.

"If it isn't the little ghost. Good to see you again, kid." Rod dug out a beer and handed it to him.

There were many things registering with Rusty at that moment. The smell of chicken and mushroom pizza; the soft breeze that took the edge of the heat away; and the coldness of the beer bottle that he took automatically from Rod. What he was focusing on most though, the thing that he only had eyes for was Rod; more accurately, Rod's arm as he sat with his sleeves rolled up, his arm exposed.

"You like it?" Rod flexed his arm and the tattoo rippled. "It's an eagle."

Rusty sat down, his knees giving way. The tattoo, bold and striking and Rod in his denim shirt and his dark hair and laughing eyes and it wasn't, it really wasn't _him_ but the visual echo hit him hard and washed over him and rolled up with that were Rod's questions from last time and Rusty took a swig from the beer bottle to cover and forced himself to concentrate.

"It's good," he managed and took another drink.

"You OK, kid?" Stevie, softly spoken and concerned.

"Fine. It was a long drive."

"Have some pizza." Stevie pushed the box towards him and he automatically lifted out a slice and bit in to it. Cheese and tomato and chicken and mushroom and it brought him back to himself. There was no danger here. There was no threat. There was nothing but a sparked memory and he could deal with that. He could always deal with that.

"I've got a wolf across my shoulders," Rod went on. "Took seven hours. Nothing like suffering for your beauty."

_"You're beautiful. You really are."_

Rusty growled silently at himself. Unhelpful. He smiled at Rod and then Stevie was talking about another job and a false moustache that had tickled unbearably and Rod was rolling his eyes and there was laughter again and eventually, Rusty felt like joining in.

* * *

Small and thin and voluble, Gianfranco Rossi arrived late and with a mouthful of expletives about public transport.

"Learn to drive," Carter suggested mildly as they all reconvened in his lounge and attracted dark looks from the new arrival.

"America is crazy," Gianfranco suggested, his English strong and clear but with a rich accent. "You think I want to trust my life behind the wheel of a car when there are maniacs on the road?"

"And yet you get on buses and planes and trains," Rod pointed out.

"That is different," Gianfranco said solemnly. "Anything happens there I can sue people with money."

"Talking about people with money," Carter said, "I'd like to introduce you to our mark. Before I do, Gianfranco, this is Rusty Ryan, works with Saul Bloom out of New Jersey. Rusty worked with us a couple of months back on the Levene job. Rusty, this is Gianfranco Rossi. He's our greaseman."

"Greaseman?"

The word was out before he could stop it and he flushed. He didn't want to sound as green as he was. The others looked amused but they didn't laugh and Stevie leaned over and said, "You know those tight spots we never want get into? Well, Gianfranco can fit into them with ease."

Rusty blinked at the non-explanation and Gianfranco sighed and shrugged off his coat and _folded _himself in two. Neat and tidy and unbelievable. Rusty stared down at the compacted form and then up at Carter.

"He's an asset," Carter commented. "If you can put up with the verbal."

Gianfranco unfolded himself and sprang upright and glowered.

"Here." Rod pushed a beer into his hand and motioned him to sit down. "No point in sulking when the man's about to explain how we're going to make money."

* * *

Declan Coogan was a hard-edged man of property who skirted round the loopholes in the law and skated over the thin ice of actually breaking it. His latest project involved some backhanders to the authorities and a free rein on turning residential housing into commercial real estate via compulsory purchase.

Rusty looked at the large screen which showed a balding man chewing on a cigar.

"He thinks he's clever but what he does is common knowledge," Carter said. "The trouble is, no one can prove it."

"We can?" Stevie ventured.

"We can." Carter clicked the projector on to the next slide. "These are Coogan's premises. Security is tight and he likes to think impenetrable. We're going to prove him wrong on that. We need to get inside and find the files, paper and electronic, and set up surveillance."

Rod sat up straighter and squinted at the next shot of the alarm system. "It's new on the market," he said finally. "But it's not unbeatable. I can disarm it and have us through and in."

"Good. Coogan's office is on the fifth floor. Gianfranco...?"

There was a heavy and dramatic sigh.

"I'm going to be shut in a filing cabinet again, aren't I?"

* * *

The first line of attack was taking down Coogan's business plans and accessing en route his business account with the aim of siphoning off a little surplus. The second aspect of the job was pure distraction but more personal.

"Want us to get close to Coogan. He's a gambler. Likes to think of himself as a good poker player and a man with an eye for the horses."

"We're going to rig a horse race?" Rod's eyebrows went skyward.

"No." Carter's lips twitched. "We're going to get pally with the man. Make him like us. And then we're going to take his money."

"And he won't mind because?" Gianfranco asked.

"Because he'll like us." Carter looked at Rusty thoughtfully. "How are your card skills, kid?"

"Decent," he said at once. They were. He'd seen Saul's eyes when he'd dealt and there was genuine admiration and pride and he wasn't going to undersell himself.

Carter gave a slight smile. "We'll have a game later. OK. So. Two lines in. Rod and Gianfranco and I are going to tackle the office. Stevie, you and Rusty are going to be his best friends."

Stevie looked over at Rusty and pursed his lips.

"Think I've just acquired a little brother."

* * *

Rod and Gianfranco had the television on and had found some soccer game that Gianfranco was taking extreme interest in and which he was trying to explain to Rod. Carter and Stevie and Rusty were sat round a table with a pack of cards in Rusty's hands.

"Alright, kid. Let's see what you can do."

It was the same exercise as Saul carried out at regular intervals. Carter called out the hands and Rusty dealt them. After half a dozen rounds of dealing, Carter looked at Stevie who was shaking his head and smiling.

"Really professional. Couldn't see the work at all."

"No," Carter agreed. "Neither could I." A broad smile lit up his face. "Well done, Rusty. You have great skill."

Rusty couldn't stop the grin. It was great to hear that Saul thought he was good and it was somehow even more so for Carter to tell him.

"Right," Carter said. "We start tomorrow. Reconnaissance and routine and when we've nailed those, we move in."

They stood up and Carter sauntered over to where Gianfranco was currently lapsing into foreign language that Rusty recognised and expletives that he was rapidly learning.

Stevie glanced at Rusty. "Where are you staying?"

Rusty blinked at him and the answer which was that he didn't know exactly remained unspoken and shouted all at the same time. Last time he'd been with Saul and Carter had put them both up. He'd kind of thought… He kicked himself for not thinking about something so basic.

"Rod and I have got rooms over at the Lullaby Motel. It's close by," Stevie said. "Guess Gianfranco will be crashing there too."

"OK," Rusty nodded. "It'd be good to be together."

When it came to calling it an evening, Rusty stood up with the others and Carter looked mildly surprised.

"I've got a room here for you, Rusty," he said. "Think Saul and I assumed…"

"That's alright, Carter," Rusty assured him. It was alright. He didn't need sheltering. "Besides, I thought I could offer Gianfranco a lift."

Gianfranco beamed. "You, Rusty, are a true gentleman."

* * *

The days that followed saw the information being gathered and the plans laid. Rusty saw how meticulous Carter was in putting the job together and he admired the attention to detail.

"Fail to plan and you plan to fail," Carter said to him at one point. "It's a poster cliché but it happens to be true. If you want to be good at this game, you need to be thorough. You need to think about every angle. Do your post-mortem on what went wrong upfront and why and then you won't need to do it afterwards because you will be prepared."

"You been in the game long?" Rusty asked him.

"Long enough. Made some good friends along the way. Saul for one. Smart and shrewd and very talented. If he ever broke away from that town he buries himself in, he could be immense. But," and here Carter's face softened, "Annie is a terrific reason for tying yourself down."

"He's amazing," Rusty agreed. "So's she."

"Yeah. Special people. And there are others you'll probably get to meet at some point. Like Scott who started out with me. It's a hidden world and it's populated by stars that mask their brilliance."

* * *

He wasn't nervous. Really, he wasn't. He'd called Annie and Saul as he had done the previous five nights and there had been love and concern and professional interest and all that had helped. And now, he was waiting for Stevie to collect him and they were going to bump into Declan and the game was going to start.

Stevie appeared at his door.

"Showtime, Rusty."

This was it. He stood up off the bed and smiled at Stevie and admitted to himself that maybe, maybe he was a little bit nervous.

* * *

Rusty was wondering what he had been worried about. Everything had gone brilliantly. They had made Declan's acquaintance in the bar and Stevie had been Declan's kind of guy, laughing at Declan's jokes and finding numerous areas of common interest.

Rusty had been nineteen year-old Vince, younger brother in town to look up Stevie, and Stevie had been indulgent and affectionate Bill and Declan had looked at Vince and liked the slightly awkward boy who looked up to his big brother so.

There had been a poker game and Declan and Stevie and Rusty had joined in with two others. They had ended the night all winning except Declan. Declan had been cleaned out and yet Carter had been right: he didn't suspect Stevie and he certainly didn't suspect Rusty whose fingers had been clever and skilful.

Ruefully, Declan had invited them both to have another drink and had made them promise to meet up again the next day.

* * *

The next evening was a replica of the previous. Laughing and joking and Declan had no clue as he started by winning and ended by losing, even as he was scowling at his bad luck and watching his money disappear. And unsuspecting, he had insisted they meet up a third time.

"It's Vince's last day tomorrow," Stevie had said and Declan had grinned.

"Then we'll show him a good time."

Rusty walked back into his motel room, his pockets bursting with cash, and couldn't believe that they were getting away with it.

* * *

The third evening was the most important. The third evening was the one where Rod and Carter and Gianfranco were going to swing into action and Stevie and Rusty needed to keep Declan busy.

Declan had ended up poorer but no wiser and had stared down at the final cards laid with such puzzlement that Rusty had shot a quick but casual glance at Stevie who had shook his head a fraction. Nothing to worry about was the message Rusty was picking up. Personally, he was amazed that a man who was so shrewd in business could be so gullible in his private life.

"Cards are just not running for me," Declan said with a sigh. He stood up and smiled at both of them. "Let me get some more cash, Vince, and then Bill and I will show you how to live in the big city."

They were supposed to walk away but Stevie was frowning and telling him no. They didn't want Declan to remember them for the wrong reasons. Besides which, Carter and Rod were busy finishing the work at the office. It couldn't hurt to humour Declan.

They hit another couple of bars and even though he was drinking as little as he could get away with, Rusty felt himself getting a little lightheaded. He acted drunker than he was and Declan had laughed delightedly and joked with Stevie about holding one's drink. Now they were walking along an ordinary street and Declan's arm was around Rusty's shoulders and he stopped dead in front of one of the houses.

"C'mon, Vince, we need to round your last night off with a trip to Madam Sukie's."

Madam Sukie's… The words penetrated Rusty's brain and alarm bells started ringing. He looked anxiously at Stevie.

"A whorehouse?" Stevie asked.

"S'right," Declan nodded with a wink and a leer. "One of the best. I run a tab here."

_Whorehouse? _Part of Rusty's brain was screaming at him to move, to run, to get the hell out of there and only the part that demanded he stay professional and in character kept him in place. He glanced at Stevie and got no help from that quarter. Stevie was going with the flow.

"C'mon, Vince, it'll be fun!" said Declan.

And Rusty watched himself in horror as his feet climbed up the steps.

* * *

Declan disappeared to the desk to discuss financials with Madam Sukie and Stevie appeared to notice Rusty's discomfort for the first time.

"You OK, kid?"

No. He truly wasn't.

"You got a girl back home?" Stevie sounded sympathetic.

Lila… No. Maybe. "Yes," he lied.

"Doesn't count," Stevie said firmly. "Not if it's on the job. It's not the same thing at all."

Rusty looked at him and wondered suddenly how many times Saul had cheated on Annie. Somehow he thought the answer was less than one.

Declan came back over to where they were sitting and looked pleased with himself.

"Sit tight, boys. Sukie's showing us her best."

Miserable and on edge and hoping that Declan would just think it was all about the drink, Rusty closed his eyes as a parade of eight girls walked out and stood in front of them. Declan dug an elbow into his ribs.

"Have a look, Vince. It's a decent line-up."

Rusty felt sick. He opened his eyes and he saw blonde and busty and redhead and teeth and brunette and legs that didn't stop. _Line-up._ The girls were standing and waiting and trying to catch the eye and the bile rose in Rusty. Maybe he could throw up or faint or do something to stop this nightmare.

Then he saw her. On the end. Long fair hair and slim frame and blue eyes that were currently studying the carpet and looking anywhere but at the would be customers. She looked about his age, certainly younger than any of the others, though her face was painted and she wore bright red lipstick. She was dressed in a short skirt and a white blouse. And she was doing her best not to be there.

"Nice," said Stevie approvingly looking along the line.

"Yeah. What do you reckon, Bill? Nice bit of redhead ass over there…or little Miss Playing Hard to Get on the end…could see her-" The rest of the sentence disappeared into the lewd and the rude and Rusty did his best to block out the words and the sentiment. He came back to himself with a bump as Declan elbowed him yet again.

"You pick first, Vince," Declan offered generously and Rusty didn't hesitate.

"Her," he said and winced as the pale, blonde girl realised and flinched.

Declan picked the redhead and Stevie selected a brunette and the women took their hands and led them up the stairs. The young girl took hold of Rusty's hand and followed. Her grip was featherlight and her head was down and she wasn't looking anywhere near Rusty.

"Three hours I paid for, Vince. You go enjoy yourself," Declan instructed.

He and Stevie disappeared into rooms and the girl let go of Rusty's hand and pushed open a door.

"In here, sir. Vince. Sir."

Rusty ghosted past her into a small bedroom with what looked like a bathroom off. There was a double bed with cream sheets and his eyes flicked up to the ceiling - no artex – before he walked to the window and gripped the windowsill and looked out at the fire-escape and tried to stop the trembling. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. Rusty closed his eyes and bit his lip and this wasn't happening.

"Vince…? Sir…?"

His eyes opened and he turned round and the girl was standing naked by the bed and no. This was not happening.

"What's your name?" he asked hoarsely.

"Le-Leonie May," she stammered.

He crossed over to her and he wanted to put a hand on her shoulder to reassure but her face was so frightened and she was trembling in the way that Rusty really wanted to. This was too close to home. This was a hundred other encounters in a bedroom with a stranger and he felt like screaming and not stopping.

"Leonie May, this isn't what I want."

A flicker of misery washed across her face and then she dropped to her knees in front of him and Rusty couldn't stifle the moan of unhappiness as she did so.

"No. No. Get up. Get up and get your clothes on."

The girl looked up at him and stumbled to her feet.

"Please," she said in a low voice. "Please, sir…Vince…sir…please. I-I can do anything you want me to. Please. They'll be so angry with me…whatever you want…I'll do it…please…"

Rusty's fingers dug into his palms and he fought to keep his voice steady.

"What I want is for you to get your clothes on and to come and sit down beside me on the bed."

He sat down and silently, she shrugged her clothes back on and came and sat down obediently at his side, waiting for further instruction. Rusty turned slightly to face her and he spoke low and earnestly.

"Listen to me, Leonie May. You don't have to do a thing. You don't have to strip off, you don't have to sleep with me, you don't have to…you don't have to get down on your knees."

She blinked at him. "Is it me?" she said at last. "Are you sorry you picked me?"

"No! No. Not at all." Rusty's voice softened. "You're new to this, aren't you?"

She looked down at her hands, knitting together in her lap and said nothing. Rusty sighed inwardly. Not like he didn't know the feeling. He'd had questions from time to time and he'd done his very best not to answer.

"Does it show so very much?" she asked eventually. "Do I really look so…"

Rusty's mouth twitched into a smile and back again.

"You look young."

"I'm sixteen!" she said indignantly and then she dropped her gaze and muttered. "Just sixteen."

He said nothing and then she sighed.

"Six weeks," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Six weeks?" he frowned.

"I came to the city six weeks ago. I met this man at the bus depot and he…he…"

"Said he knew a place you could stay? Somewhere warm and dry?"

"Yes," she nodded. "And then he brought me here and he…he said I could stay if I…and he took me into this room and he…he…"

She dissolved into tears and wretchedness and Rusty dug into his pocket for a handkerchief.

"Thank you," she sniffed and wiped her face. The lipstick had gone and most of the makeup with it.

"Leonie May-"

"Betty," she corrected. "Betty Foster."

"Rusty Ryan," he said and held out his hand.

Betty shook it seriously as if they were being introduced at a dance and then frowned.

"Rusty? How do you get to that from Vince?"

"Just a nickname," he said truthfully.

"Rusty," she smiled shakily. "Suits you."

"Thanks. Leonie May?"

Betty gave a little laugh. "Thought it made me sound a little more grown up. For my new life in the big city."

"Where's the old life?"

"Belmont, Ohio. Little town where nothing happened. And I had such big dreams."

Her voice was wistful and full of aching betrayal.

"Get out of here, Betty," Rusty said firmly. "Get out of here and get on a bus back to Belmont."

"I can't," she shook her head.

"Your family?"

"No. I mean...oh, I miss my mom so much!" she sobbed and then explained through her tears. "They keep the doors and windows locked. We don't get to go outside."

Rusty stood up. "Oh, yes, we do. You got anything here you care about?"

"No…" Betty's eyes were wide.

"Then come on."

* * *

He'd jammed the bathroom door in case anyone came looking. The window had had a simple enough catch to manoeuvre round and then there had been a journey down a fire escape and there had been silently stealing through the back street and into a diner a couple of blocks away with two milkshakes and two burgers and fries.

"They'll miss us," Betty said worriedly.

"Not yet. Not for a while."

She sipped the milkshake and looked at him wonderingly.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked.

Rusty looked down at the burger.

"Knew someone once," he said at last. "Someone who was lost and lonely and who needed kindness. And they didn't get it. They ended up locked in a life like Madam Sukie has to offer until someone helped them."

He looked up at Betty.

"I just want you to get out now while you can."

"I didn't want it," she whispered. "He said I looked like I wanted it. Like I was asking for it. And his hands were…and he made me…"

"Betty, you don't have to-"

"They charge you ten dollars a day for board and lodging. And they put you in the line with the other girls and if you don't get chosen, they just keep on adding up what you owe. And I've only been chosen three times and one of those was you."

The other two times hung in the air and then Betty swallowed hard.

"I…I haven't got any money, Rusty. If you wanted, I could…I wouldn't mind so much…if it's you…"

"No!" Rusty was fierce and definite and Betty flushed. "No," he said more gently. "That's not how this works. That's not what I want."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of Declan's money.

"Let's get you on a Greyhound."

* * *

Rusty helped her up the steps of the bus and sat her next to a friendly grandmother type. You couldn't trust anyone nowadays but this looked like the least likely person to disappoint you.

"You get yourself home, Betty. Get back to the people who care about you."

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much, Rusty."

He pressed a hand up to her face and she kissed it.

"Go have a life," he said gently and left her.

* * *

Three hours were up and Stevie banged on the door.

"Vince?" he said experimentally and Rusty appeared. Steve looked over Rusty's shoulder. "She any good?" He looked puzzled. "Where is she?"

"In the bathroom fixing herself up."

"Huh." Steve nodded. "Come on, then."

Downstairs, Declan was waiting.

"Made a man of you, Vince?" he grinned. "Always remember your first time right?"

"Oh yeah," Rusty agreed. "Vividly."

* * *

Back at Carter's, the others were waiting.

"Success. Got our hands on his money and enough evidence for the press and the police to make life very uncomfortable for Declan." Carter grinned as Stevie and Rusty produced the cash they'd won. "Success all round, it looks like. Any problems?"

"No," Stevie shook his head. "All went like clockwork. Rusty here's a real pro."

"Saul will be proud," Carter told him.

* * *

Saul was proud. So was Annie though she didn't want the details that Saul did.

"I'll leave you boys to it," she said once she'd finished hugging Rusty and Saul sat back in his easy chair and studied Rusty.

"How was it?"

"It was…" Amazing. A thrill. Beyond belief. And echoing back to the worst days of his life in a way he hadn't expected. "An adventure," Rusty said and meant it.


	21. Encounter

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: just borrowing.

Chapter Twenty-one: Encounter

_

* * *

_

There wasn't any time. There just wasn't any time. And he was searching and searching and he wished he knew this city better; he should have taken the care to learn this city better; to know the streets and the alleyways and the neighbourhoods and the hotels and the right side of town and most especially the wrong side of town. But wishes were for fairy-tales. And he had to keep looking...

* * *

It was a September afternoon. Rusty sat in the orchard in the late summer sunshine and he could hear Annie in the kitchen humming as she baked. Saul had disappeared behind his newspaper and there was a gentle snoring that indicated he was probably no longer actually reading it.

Rusty sipped the homemade lemonade and wafted away an inquisitive wasp. He stared round at the trees and the warmth and the welcome and his mind drifted with the breeze.

_July…_

…just a few weeks after pain and revelation and it had been Annie's birthday. None of them had felt like celebrating. Subdued. Quiet. Rusty had bought her flowers and Annie had hugged him tightly and lovingly. Saul had produced a deep blue silk scarf and Annie had sighed and smiled happily and tearfully all at the same time and the world had come down to the two of them: Rusty had stepped discreetly out of the room.

_August…_

…and a week after he'd come back off the Coogan job and even in the aftermath of what he hadn't shared, it had been _Saul's _birthday. Annie had cooked a wonderful meal and made a wonderful cake and Marty had called round with whisky and they had all sat up and chatted till the small hours. Marty and Annie had teased Saul mercilessly with stories from his past for Rusty's benefit. And even though the stories were known and had been shared a million times before, there was still so much laughter and joy.

And now it was September. And yesterday, Saul had greeted him at breakfast with a wide smile and Annie had brought out bagels and there was pink milkshake and it had taken a second for him to understand.

It had been a year to the day that he had met Saul. A year since he'd stepped into a diner, wretched and trapped and screaming inside at himself, at MacAvoy, at an existence of misery absolute. A year. A year of escape and mistrust and disbelieving joy; learning skills and developing talent in a world he had never thought of; finding a home and a family and being loved and loving in return. Saul and Annie. And he didn't dwell on how or why the amazing and the fantastic had occurred because he didn't have to know those kind of details in order to know how fortunate he was.

Inside the house, the phone rang and Rusty heard Annie stop humming and pad off to answer it. She emerged from the house with a look of consternation on her face that made Rusty sit up straight.

"Saul…" Her voice was puzzled.

The snoring stopped from behind the paper and Saul appeared over the top of the newsprint enquiringly.

"That was Carter. He couldn't hang on and he wants you to call him back. He said to say he hoped you were free next month. He said it like he'd asked you before…"

Saul looked at her and he was just not quite quick enough to hide the truth from either Rusty or Annie.

"Why wouldn't you…" Annie frowned and then her eyes widened and when she spoke there was more than just a little hint of anger in there. "Oh, Saul! Saul Bloom, don't you tell me that I am the reason you've grounded yourself!"

Saul was on his feet and his hands were on Annie's shoulders.

"Annie, I couldn't…I _can't…"_

"You could and you can and you will," she told him sharply. "You go and do what you're brilliant at. You don't need to-"

"I _want _to…" And wrapped up in that was anguish and guilt and self-blame for the past.

"Saul…" The anger had died and there was tender understanding and there was permission and encouragement and Saul kissed her forehead and Rusty considered that it was difficult to discreetly step out of an orchard.

"You are a wonderful woman, Annie. That's the first thing I told Rusty about you."

Annie glanced over at Rusty and flushed as he nodded and said, "He did. And he's right."

* * *

Carter was pleased to hear from him.

"You enjoyed the summer off? I'm putting together a little expedition at the end of next month and I'd like it if you could join me. Rusty too if he's free."

"We'll be there," Saul promised. "Let me know nearer the time."

"Good. Stevie and Rod are on board. Familiar faces. They'll be glad to see Rusty again."

Saul smiled to himself. He'd had a chat with Carter after the Coogan job and he had swelled with pride as he was told about Rusty's professionalism. _"Rusty's a real find"._

"Stevie says to tell him there probably won't be any dalliances with houses of ill repute."

The smile dropped like a stone from Saul's face. "What?"

"He didn't tell you?" Carter sounded surprised. "Apparently the mark threw them a curveball at a critical time. Diversion into a brothel. Rusty just took it all in his stride."

Silence.

"Saul...? Saul, are you-"

"Yes, Carter. I'm here." Calm and composed. "Thanks for the invite. Look forward to hearing more."

He hung up and stared at the phone. Rusty was out. When he came back, there would be a conversation.

* * *

Lila opened the door, a letter in her hand and blinked at him for a moment and then smiled, slow and sexy.

"You're a sight for sore eyes."

Rusty stepped in to the room and closed the door behind him. "You've got sore eyes? You should take something for them."

The letter drifted to the floor. "I intend to."

* * *

"Rusty. Would you come in here a moment."

The smile that was hovering around Rusty's mouth slipped away as he pushed open the door to the lounge and saw Saul sitting in his chair, looking serious.

"Saul…?

"Come and sit down. Please." Gentle and yet not to be argued with.

Frowning slightly, he did so and Saul leaned forward.

"I spoke to Carter. He's got a job lined up. Wants us both along for the ride."

"Right." Well, that sounded…it didn't sound…it…

"He talked a little about the last job."

Oh. _Oh… _Saul knew. He knew. Not details but he knew what Carter had told him which was what Stevie had told Carter. Saul knew and he wouldn't ask but he'd want to help. Saul would _always _want to help.

"Rusty…" And he felt the weight of trust and belief.

His eyes dropped down to his hands and he thought about the horror of walking up the steps and into the house of sex for sale.

"I had to, Saul. If I hadn't gone along with it, we might have… Stevie and I needed to make sure that the mark liked us-"

"-and forgot the pair of you," Saul nodded. He reached over and took Rusty's hand and squeezed gently. "Even so…"

And Rusty could see the pain. Saul was imagining and picturing and _feeling_ how he, Rusty, would have felt. How he _had_ felt. And Saul was thinking further…thinking about what he hadn't had to do. Imagining Rusty being trapped and forced, just as he had been before.

He hadn't wanted to talk about it. He hadn't wanted to share but the thought of Saul thinking that things were worse than they were…

"It wasn't-I didn't-there was-" The words fell out of him and he took a deep breath. "I met a girl called Betty Foster."

* * *

Annie was chopping vegetables when Saul walked in to the kitchen. He brushed her hair to one side and kissed the back of her neck and wrapped his arms around her.

"I can't make dinner if you do that," she murmured.

"Mmm." Saul sounded as though he was thinking about that one.

Annie sighed and put down the knife and swivelled round in his arms. She pressed a hand up to Saul's cheek.

"What is it?"

Saul was silent for a moment then he said,"We've got the most wonderful young man living with us."

"You only just discovered this fact?"

"No," Saul admitted. "I've thought that for some time. I just wanted to tell you."

"You think I don't know?"

Saul kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Maybe I just wanted to tell you."

* * *

After dinner, he sat with Rusty and a pack of cards while Annie busied herself with her needlework and the television in the corner kept them company.

"So I was thinking," Saul began, dealing Rusty four nines and an ace, "that maybe we might have a little run out to Atlantic City at the weekend. Just you and me. What do you say?"

Rusty's smile told Saul that Atlantic City sounded good.

* * *

They had adjoining rooms at an anonymous cut-price hotel just outside the centre.

"Not the best," Saul apologised as Rusty tried in vain to get the wardrobe door to shut.

Rusty thought briefly of the streets; of MacAvoy's flat; of the room he'd shared with Marvin.

"It's fine," he assured him and meant it.

* * *

They'd had a profitable weekend. Marks and their money proved surprisingly accommodating when it came to being parted. They'd worked together and separately and Rusty had enjoyed himself. The bigger jobs he'd been involved with – Carter's projects – had been exciting enough but there was a kind of serenity working with Saul. Everything he might hope to be.

He was sitting at the bar in the nearly empty lounge of the hotel waiting for Saul to reappear. They'd split up this afternoon for individual cons and they were meeting up again for the evening. The last evening before they headed back to Annie. Rusty nursed the Coca-Cola and busied himself with the potato chips and trying to work out the plot of the film that was showing on the TV behind the bar. The sound was down and it was hard-going. Either the dog was a criminal mastermind or-

In the mirror, he caught sight of Saul walking in through the doors and he half-rose to turn and greet him. But Saul's eyes were on his and they were forbidding him to move, to even acknowledge him. Rusty sank back down to his seat, watching.

Three men, their faces half-hidden beneath upturned jacket collars and hats, followed Saul in. There was muttered discussion and Saul's eyes were still on his, still telling him not to interfere, not to get involved. He didn't need to read the fear and anxiety in Saul: Every instinct in Rusty was screaming at him that something was very wrong. And then Saul's eyes tore away from his and the four of them disappeared up the stairs leaving Rusty and the forgotten chips and Coke.

Saul was warning him to stay away and that _could_ be because he had a con on the go and Rusty might somehow blow it. But bringing the marks back here...? Rusty thought again about Saul's face. Anxious and frightened and part of that was selfworry but the majority of it was directed at Rusty. Saul was scared for Rusty. These men meant business.

He'd never disobeyed Saul. Not even in the early days when he'd been suspicious about motives and had been wondering if he'd made the worst mistake of his life. And there had been three of them towering behind Saul and he wasn't at all certain what he could do about that. If it had been him on his own, he'd have punched hard and run fast and hoped for the best but Saul...

It didn't matter. It was Saul. He needed to move.

* * *

Saul's room was by the top of the stairs and Rusty pressed his ear to the door. Low voices and he could hear intent and menace and he couldn't bear it. He didn't know details but there was no way he could hang back. He turned the handle and pushed the door which reluctantly opened once the man blocking it stood aside.

Saul was sat on the bed, pale but unhurt, breathing heavily. The other two men were either side of him, one with his back to Rusty and the other with a fistful of dollars.

"What have we here?" the man with the money said wonderingly. "Let him in, Larry."

Larry gave Rusty no choice in the matter, grabbing his wrist and pulling him into the room. Saul's face grew impossibly paler and his eyes closed briefly.

"You know him, old man? He a friend of yours?" The cash was waved in Saul's face. "You work together?"

"I know him, Finn." The third man said quietly and both Saul and Rusty's heads turned towards him.

Rusty's memory kicked into action and he was running through marks that he'd already hit on this weekend and before and customers at Sam's garage and then, like three bells falling into place on a slot machine, he knew. Thick matted hair covering chest and arms and back. His breath caught in his throat.

"Kid's a hustler. Must have moved cities." The man gave Saul's face a careless little slap. "You dirty fucker." He grabbed Saul's hand with the wedding band. "Playing away from home. Let's hope wifey never finds out."

There was colour now in Saul's cheeks and Rusty could see that rage had overcome fear and then almost in the same instant, Saul changed. He made himself physically smaller and when he spoke, his voice was a whine.

"S'right. Kid's just mad at me because he was such a lousy lay I didn't pay him."

"That true, kid?" Finn was grinning. "You come looking for your money and find a heap of trouble?"

The other man, the man with the fingers that had held him down and had dug into him and hadn't cared, the other man leant in to Saul. "You're just a mean old bastard, aren't you?" He slapped Saul again and Rusty couldn't stand it.

Instinct took over and he pulled free from Larry and launched himself across the room at the man. His fist connected with the man's gut and there was an "oof" of surprise and Saul was half off the bed and then Larry's arms wrapped round him and dragged him away and suddenly the focus of attention was Finn and his hand that held the gun.

"Steady, old man. You too, blondie."

Rusty swallowed and he knew without looking that Saul was frightened beyond words. And that was nothing to do with Saul's own safety.

"You sure about him?" Finn asked, his eyes on Rusty.

The man nodded and crossed to Rusty, running a finger down his cheek and along his bottom lip, pulling it gently.

"I never forget a mouth as talented as yours," he said and Rusty couldn't stop the flush that coloured his cheeks.

Finn looked amused. "Sounds like you got a raw deal, old man. Well, here's what we're going to do. We've got our money back and a little interest. And now we're going to show there's no hard feelings. On your feet."

Saul stood up slowly and he wasn't looking at Rusty.

"You're coming with us, old man."

Rusty let out a noise of dismay and Finn's attention was on him in a second. "Don't worry, blondie." He stuffed a wad of cash in Rusty's jacket pocket. "Here's what's owed you."

"He staying here?" Larry asked and Finn nodded.

"Sleep well, kid." The gun came crashing down on Rusty's temple and as he fell to the ground, he heard Saul let out a cry of fury and anguish.

* * *

Saul saw Rusty collapse and he was unable to choke back on the yell and then the gun was flashed in his direction.

"Just a taste of what's to come," promised Finn.

And then he was being bustled out of the room by Finn and Larry and the Other, the one who had laid hands on Rusty, the one who had- with difficulty, Saul pushed the anger down. The blow had looked nasty but it wasn't fatal and Rusty wasn't in immediate danger. He needed to focus.

"See, the thing you have to remember, old man," said Finn, his arm around Saul's shoulders, steering him down the stairs and out on to the street, "is not to try and make mugs out of the wrong sort of people. Because that leads to very painful consequences."

It had been bad luck. He'd done nothing wrong or clumsy but Finn and Larry from the previous night had rounded a corner and spotted him and then the Other had arrived and he'd hoped that they'd be satisfied with the return of their money and a little more. Bad luck. That was all it had been and all it continued to be. A piece of bad luck. Con men ran up against it occasionally and how they dealt with it was a mark of their longevity in the profession.

They walked a little way through the back streets, away from lights and noise and people and deeper into darkness and danger. Eventually, Finn said, "Stop" and a shove of Larry's hand sent Saul falling hard against the alley wall with the trickle of water running down it. Saul felt the grimy bricks against his cheek and he closed his eyes and readied himself.

_Standing and waiting and nervous and excited and the adrenaline pumping through him…_

"Here we go, old man." And he was spun round and the fist flew into his face…

_Turning round and his heart had been in his mouth and walking towards him had been a goddess, an angel, divine and fabulous…_

He spat blood and Larry landed a punch in his gut that doubled him over. The Other was waiting with a blow that caught him on the side of his head and another landed, splitting open his lip…

_He wanted to cry and to laugh and to marvel and to rejoice all at the same time. The woman that he loved more than anyone or anything he could have ever imagined. A simple dress and white roses and Annie's face, smiling like she would never stop, radiating love and forever…_

Bone crunched and pain shot through him and for a moment he couldn't even think about Annie and he forced himself to bury the pain…

_He was trembling. Literally trembling. And he felt the emotion welling up inside him, protectiveness and adoration and he would do anything for this woman. He would fall down on his knees in front of this woman. He would walk through fire and across hot coals and into the lion's den for this woman. He didn't matter. Only she mattered._

He was on the ground now and the kicking wouldn't stop, brutal and vicious, connecting with ribs and kidneys, and he tried to make himself as small a target as possible.

"…_man and wife. You may kiss the bride."_

_And he'd swept her tenderly, completely, respectfully, into his arms and he'd kissed her gently, reverently, as if this dream might end and she might disappear back to the world of the fantastic and the unreal…_

Annie. Annie. _(Blood and bruises covered him). _Most precious, most marvellous. _(Still the boots bit into him). _He would protect, he would keep safe, he would bathe in the warmth of her smile and her love and nothing else mattered.

And as oblivion descended, an inexplicable smile crept painfully on to his face.

* * *

Unconsciousness faded away and Rusty sat up and groaned. His head was still swimming madly as if it had been cast adrift in a sea infested with sharks.

Saul.

Rusty's mouth went dry and he ignored his own pain and scrabbled to his feet, running out of the room and the hotel. Inside his head, there was a voice screaming at him that he needed to move, to find Saul, to help, to rescue…and there wasn't any time.

Blindly, he ran along sidewalks and he wasn't even certain where to start looking, where to begin the search and there wasn't any time. Saul didn't have any time. Right now the three men would be hurting him and he needed to find him. Needed to do something.

There wasn't any time. There just wasn't any time. And he was searching and searching and he wished he knew this city better; he should have taken the care to learn this city better; to know the streets and the alleyways and the neighbourhoods and the hotels and the right side of town and most especially the wrong side of town. But wishes were for fairy-tales. And he had to keep looking...

Rusty rounded a corner and he had to stop, his lungs burning and the ache in his side was too much to disregard. He looked at the people flashing past, laughing and giggling and he wanted to scream at them.

He closed his eyes and he tried to stop the runaway images of suffering and to focus. There were no guarantees but the man who had paid for him had been travelling through. _"Only here for the night. Pity. You're the best tonic a sales guy could have." _It was possible he was passing through Atlantic City too. It was likely that all three men were visitors. In which case, they weren't going to know about the wrong side of town. They were just going to take Saul down the nearest dark alleyway. Close to the hotel. That's where he needed to explore.

* * *

Swiftly and methodically, Rusty worked his way back from the hotel. Two sidestreets back, there was an alleyway that looked promising. He pounded down it, past the heap of clothes and the beer bottles and the garbage and then he froze. He retraced his steps and he knelt down in the stale-smelling water that had puddled on the alley floor. Then Rusty turned the heap of clothes over and he found himself staring at Saul's swollen and bloodied features.

* * *

Somehow, he'd dragged Saul upright. Somehow, he'd slung Saul's arm over his shoulders and Saul had half-woken without opening his eyes or saying a word and together they had stumbled back to the hotel. Somehow, they'd made it up the stairs and back to Rusty's room and Saul was lying on the bed.

Rusty looked at the mess and wanted to cry. He didn't have a clue where to start. He brought back a wet flannel from the bathroom and dabbed it uselessly at the worst of the blood on Saul's face. The coolness seemed to revive Saul. His eyes flickered and opened, in spite of the swelling and he saw Rusty and the smile was as immediate as the accompanying grimace.

"Rusty…" Saul said softly and then he tried to sit up, to look round to see where the danger lay.

"It's OK," Rusty assured him. "It's OK. We're on our own. We're back at the hotel. It's OK."

Saul's eyes closed. "Phone Marty," he said.

* * *

Marty had answered the phone sleepily and then had been wide awake and softly swearing. That had been a while ago and Rusty had spent the time holding Saul's hand as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

He had never felt so relieved to see someone as when he'd answered the door to Marty. As they walked back into the room to Saul, he'd started to explain what had happened and Marty had stopped him and squinted at his own face.

"Looks sore, Rusty, though no skin broken. Here." He opened his bag and handed over a couple of pills. "Take these. They'll help. Now. Let's see to Mr Bloom."

Rusty had done as he was told and then had curled up on the couch as Marty had gone to work, gently stripping Saul's jacket and shirt off and cleaning wounds and forcing pills down Saul. Marty's voice was gentle and soothing and relaxing and Rusty found his head nodding.

When he woke up, Marty was still at Saul's bedside, talking lightly both in volume and tone. Saul was responding, his voice rough but recognisable. Rusty stood up and came over and Saul's face creased into a smile that looked as uncomfortable as it had the last time he'd tried it.

"Nothing permanent," Marty said. "Going to take a few days for the bruising to come out fully and for the swelling to die down." He looked at Saul. "You want me to-"

"No." Firm and definite. "I'll call her."

* * *

In spite of Marty's mutterings – and "Quit moaning, Marty, and help me" had had the right result - Saul had struggled to a phone in the hall, Rusty and Marty either side of him.

"Annie," he sighed happily at the sound of her voice. "Annie." There was a pause while dawning realisation and worry shot down the phone at him and then, "I'm alright. I am fine. Marty and Rusty are looking after me. I'm going to be home in a couple of days. And when I am, you'd better have my favourite cake waiting for me. Yes. Yes. That's my girl. I love you, Annie Bloom."

He hung up and leaned back against the wall, sweat covering him and grinned at the two faces of concern staring at him. "OK, Marty. Go pump me full of pain-killers and let me heal."

* * *

Days had passed. Saul had gotten better. The angry marks from the beating had faded considerably. They had gone home.

Annie had flown into Saul's arms and embraced him with gentle fierceness and then her gaze had fallen on Rusty and she had run to him and hugged him tightly.

* * *

It was mid-October and Annie was on a visit to Lucy. Saul had handed Rusty a whisky and had sat down with him in the lounge. Saul's first words showed Rusty that there was something he hadn't forgotten.

"That man," Saul began and Rusty knew at once whom he meant. "That man," he said again and seemed to be struggling to be articulate. Rusty helped him out.

"Yes," he told him simply and Saul's fingers tightened on the whisky glass and his face creased.

"I don't know his name," Rusty said truthfully, sensing the question that Saul wanted to ask. "I never knew names."

Saul nodded and the pain was still there and then Rusty saw him accept and push away the pain. He nodded again then he opened his eyes and looked levelly at Rusty.

"There's never a good time to discuss it but I'd wanted to tell you about this later. Still. Circumstances..." He drank deeply. "Violence. Always a possibility. Let me share with you how I handle it…"


	22. Wine and Roses

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: ain't mine, no way, no how.

A/N: so much thanks to my husband with the insane technical knowledge to instantly know about the state of home cinema in the 1980s. In other words, if it's wrong, please blame him. ;)

Chapter Twenty-two: Wine and Roses

* * *

Marty stood in his office, stared down at the patient records in his hand and sighed. Blurred and shaky writing. Unfinished sentences. Illegible words. He smiled grimly. If Cathy had been a surgeon, it wouldn't have mattered a jot. People didn't expect those who wielded the power of life and death to be bothered necessarily with something as mundane as handwriting that could be understood.

The phone rang and he picked it up.

"Marty Driver."

"Marty? It's Hiram Jennings over at Mercy. Thought we had a case review meeting arranged for one o'clock?"

Marty checked his watch. 1.15pm. He glanced down at his diary and it was completely blank.

"Sorry, Hiram," he said, his voice full of apology. "Had an unexpected consultation."

"Oh, know how they go. OK. You want to reschedule for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow will be fine. One o'clock again?"

Marty made the entry in the diary, thanked Hiram and hung up. Then he sat down at his desk and pulled out his pen and painstakingly corrected the notes.

* * *

Carter's job was still on though that had also had to be rescheduled.

"_The mark's gone on holiday."  
_

"_Inconsiderate of him."  
_

"_Yeah."_

"_We're on for mid-November."_

"_Rusty and I'll be there."_

And now it was the day they were leaving to drive to Carter's and Saul was stood in the kitchen with his arms around Annie, stroking her hair and resting his head against hers.

"You keep safe," Annie told him pointlessly. "You keep each other safe."

Saul smiled.

"You gonna tell Rusty the same thing?"

"Probably."

She pulled away and stared up at him. "Just be careful."

"Always am," he said lightly and kissed her.

* * *

Rusty had stayed the night at Lila's. He woke up next to a warm body curved into his and reached over and kissed the tiny purple butterfly on her shoulder. She stirred but didn't wake up.

Rusty slipped out of bed and stretched, rolling his head around his shoulders. Then he stepped over the empty pizza boxes and padded off to the bathroom. He ran the shower and stood under the water, eyes closed. After a while, a pair of arms snaked round him and he smiled.

"You could have let me know you wanted to freshen up."

"You think this is the way for me to do that?"

"Thought you might need a hand."

"Oh, I like your thinking. You carry on with that thinking."

* * *

Dressed finally, he stood by the door and brushed his fingers against Lila's cheek.

"I'll be out of town for a while," he murmured.

"Hurry back," she suggested and he smiled.

The door shut behind him and her expression became pensive. Then she shook herself and turned away.

* * *

Carter welcomed them both with a warm smile and lunch.

"Had the opportunity to send Stevie in undercover a couple of days ago," Carter said, as they sat down at the table. "Let me bring you up to speed."

Christian Lucas was a businessman with a reputation for shady deals and a strongarm approach to making people see his way of thinking.

"He's got a weakness for fine wine. The very best vintages. Bit of a collector. Stevie's in as a journalist interviewing him for a specialist magazine. Lucas likes to think he's a connoisseur and we're playing to that."

Saul nodded. "Setting up a House of Usher?"

"Yeah," Carter beamed and then added with a wicked grin. "With maybe a McKellen Twist."

Saul nodded again thoughtfully. "That would work."

Rusty stayed silent and bit his lip and waited for explanation. Explanation that was not forthcoming as Carter clapped his hands.

"Well. We'll go over everything when Rod arrives. In the meantime, you tell me all about Annie and how she's getting on.

* * *

Rod didn't pitch up until the evening, looking tired and worn. He nodded at Rusty and Saul and slumped down on the couch.

"Sorry I'm late, Carter. Bit of a cross-country drive."

"You up to sitting and listening? Or you want to do this in the morning?" Carter asked, handing him a beer.

Rod grinned. "Sitting and listening I can manage just fine."

* * *

The con was clean and smooth and like the work he'd done with Carter before, it was well-researched and absolutely well-targeted. Rusty felt comfortable enough now to ask questions as Carter outlined the plan and Carter never made him feel stupid for asking and Carter always had an answer.

Thorough and professional: two adjectives that were woven through Carter's projects and now Rusty was seeing beneath the surface and gaining a genuine appreciation of the work that had gone into it all. The con was a real calling in life and he could tell that Carter had embraced it in the same way that Saul had. That the thrill of the con burned in them the way it was burning through Rusty's blood, through his very being.

There had been times in his life when he had felt like he was dead and still moving. Times like this, he'd never felt more alive.

* * *

Carter had insisted that all three of them stay over and Rod looked ridiculously grateful.

"Hitting the sack, guys," he said, excusing himself early.

Saul watched him go. "What's…?"

"He was working with a crew that Scott recommended. Think they underestimated the technical involved and Rod's been pulling 24/7s for the past few days." Carter shrugged. "We'll give him a lie-in. He's not due up for a couple of days anyway." He looked over at Rusty. "You ready to grab some food, kid?"

"Always," Rusty replied truthfully.

* * *

Carter took them out to a little Italian restaurant and there had been risotto and lasagne and pannacotta and wine. Carter and Saul had talked about old days and good days and people they knew who were still around and occasionally, when the conversations grew soft and respectful, about those who were no longer with them.

Rusty didn't say very much. He just sat and listened and watched and drank it all in. He'd kind of accepted Carter as a good friend of Saul's and tonight, he understood that their friendship ran much deeper, was much older than he'd thought. And with slight surprise, he realised that he didn't know the answer to a very key question.

Back at Carter's and they'd headed up the stairs. Saul looked in to his room to say goodnight and Rusty sat up in bed and asked it.

"How did you and Carter meet?"

A smile bloomed on Saul's face and he padded across the room and sat down on Rusty's bed.

"Usual story. Someone introduced us. He and Scott had been running any number of cons and they had a reputation for keeping people safe and for delivering clean, swift results with no repercussions. Those kind of things matter. They were kind of the stuff of legends and they didn't disappoint."

"Scott..." Rusty said. "Carter mentioned him before."

"Yeah." Saul nodded. "Doesn't surprise me."

Someone who had worked with Carter, a partner by the sound of things.

"Why did they split up? Did they row or something?"

"No!" Saul laughed. "Nothing like that. They still talk. Scott went semi-legit. Retired from the more active side of things. Still around in an advisory capacity. Still nurturing talent and keeping an ear to the ground and putting people in touch with each other. You heard what Carter said about Rod." Saul grew pensive. "Mind you, I think Carter still misses him from time to time. Not that he'd ever say."

Rusty hesitated and then asked, "You think they were…"

Saul guffawed. "No, no. They _weren't_. They were just really good at what they did and they were really good friends."

Rusty didn't understand. If they were so successful and if Scott felt even a fraction of the buzz that he did with the con and a good friend to share that buzz with, then surely he'd want to keep that going.

"Then why did Scott leave?"

"I'm not sure," Saul admitted. "Asked Carter once and he gave me an answer that said nothing at all. I know when not to push it."

More questions bubbled under but Rusty heard the message and kept quiet. He wished Saul goodnight and then lay and looked up at the ceiling. The last thoughts tumbling through his head before he went to sleep were about Carter and the mysterious Scott and friendship and brilliance and being the stuff of legends.

* * *

The next morning, there was no sign of Rod as they sat down to breakfast. As the three of them started in on toast and cereal, Carter took a call.

"Yeah. Wilson?"

Wilson Yeats. Forger. Rusty watched Carter's face as he listened, quick intelligence running through it.

"It's done? Wilson, you're a marvel."

There was a look over at Saul.

"Yes, he's here. You want me to bring him by to say hello? Sure. We'll see you soon."

Carter ended the call and glanced at Rusty. "Saul and I are going to take a trip out to Wilson's place. You stay here, Rusty. Relax. We'll be back by lunchtime."

He nodded at the television. "Try out my latest gadget. Video cassette recorder. Got a pile of movies on the shelf. By the time I come back, I expect you to tell me how to work the damn thing."

* * *

Rusty ran a hand over the large gunmetal grey machine. Sony Betamax C7 according to the badge. He picked up the remote control, attached by a black umbilical cord to the recorder and turned the television on. Then he picked up the instruction manual, stretched out face down on the carpet and scanned the text.

Some time later and he'd pulled the television out and was engrossed in checking a spaghetti mess of leads and connections.

"You robbing Carter, kid?"

The words jolted him round. He'd forgotten he wasn't alone in the house. He stared up at an unshaven Rod, amusement in his eyes, his hair sticking out all over the place, barefoot in jeans and a vest that showed off his tattoos.

"Wouldn't advise it," Rod went on. "He's not a man to get on the wrong side of."

"Carter asked me to look at the recorder," Rusty said, feeling a ridiculous need to explain.

Rod flopped down beside him and Rusty's eyes fell on the tattoo and his breath caught in his throat.

"Do you mind?" Polite and casual.

Rusty scrambled gratefully backwards out of the way.

"This, Rusty," Rod held up a wire, "is called a coaxial fly lead and it has no business being inserted where Carter had it inserted."

With a grunt of effort, he reached round and…

"There." Rod sat up and put the television back in place. "Right. Scan through the channels."

He did as he was told until Rod told him to stop.

"You want to choose a movie?"

Rusty handed over "The Great Escape" and Rod loaded the tape.

"Good choice," Rod smiled, pressing play and sitting back.

The movie started and Rusty blinked. This was…this was like having the cinema in your front room…this was _magic…_

* * *

Saul and Carter came back to find Rod and Rusty side by side on the couch watching David McCallum sacrifice himself to keep Richard Attenborough and Gordon Jackson alive.

"You got it working!" Carter grinned, leaning up against the back of the couch.

"Rod got it working," Rusty corrected.

"It was a joint effort," Rod said generously. He tipped his head back and looked up at Carter. "You want me to run through how to program it?"

"Later," Carter said as Gordon Jackson gave himself away by speaking English. "Let's watch the end of this."

* * *

Stevie rolled up as lunch was being served.

"You must have smelt the food," Carter accused, pointing a spoon in his direction.

Stevie smiled. "You're kidding, right? All the work I have to do to keep my girlish figure?"

He nodded and smiled at Saul and Rusty and accepted the punch to the shoulder from Rod and then sat down with them as Carter served up an extra portion of soup.

"This tastes home-made," Rod said with surprise.

"It _is_ home-made," Carter told him.

"You're gonna make someone a beautiful wife someday," Rod grinned and Rusty caught a flash of _something_ on Carter's face and then it was gone and Carter was in control and back to being Carter.

"I bet you say that to all the men," Carter told him and turned to Stevie. "Alright, give us the full rundown on Lucas."

* * *

After the success of the Coogan job, Rusty found himself with a larger role to play. An insolent rich kid who wanted to cash in on his father's fortune early. Carter and Stevie were taking it in turns to coach him while Saul sat on the couch and looked on.

"Lucas is going to be dining at his favourite restaurant. I've booked you and Saul a table next to where he usually sits," Carter explained.

"You want to make sure that Lucas overhears you," Stevie said.

"He'll think he's got a way in and we wouldn't want to disappoint him."

Saul stood up. "You ready, Rusty?"

Rusty smiled. "Let's go."

* * *

"You never listen to me, Dad!"

The words were loud and full of pout and whine and waiters looked nervously on as the good-looking blond kid thumped his fist down on the table and made the cutlery bounce.

The older man's voice was low and conciliatory and the words couldn't be made out but they were obviously infuriating his son.

"You care more about that mouldy old bottle of wine than you do me!" The son was half out of his seat and leaning across the table and now, the whole restaurant was listening.

"Please, Jimmy-"

"Please, nothing. All I'm asking for is a bigger allowance each month. And all you're bothered about is some shitty red wine that you're never even gonna drink. I'm your _son,_ for fuck's sake! You gonna spend six figures on anything, it oughta be me!"

Jimmy turned on his heel and stormed out of the room and left his embarrassed father making apologies and paying the bill and hastening after him.

Christian Lucas chewed delicately marinated chicken thoughtfully and then reached down and picked up the calling card that the harassed father had dropped.

* * *

Wilson had indeed been a marvel. The bottle of Bordeaux sat on the side, suitably aged, dusted with cobwebs and the label with the wording scratched on in ink was newly affixed with old glue.

"It will taste like perdition," Carter announced. "But Lucas is never going to taste it."

"You set?" Saul asked and Rusty took a deep breath and nodded.

"Come over here, kid, and I'll wire you up." Rod was stood with a case full of equipment.

Rusty walked over curiously and stood in front of him.

"OK. Undo your shirt," Rod instructed and tension immediately ran through Rusty.

"My shirt?" he muttered and Saul was at his side in a moment.

"Rod needs to apply the wire to your chest, Rusty."

Rod held up tape and the microphone. "It won't hurt, kid. Might be a little cold," he acknowledged. "You wear this then at least we'll know you're safe."

Rusty slowly unbuttoned his shirt and as Saul gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze of reassurance, Rod set to work. Rusty kept himself rigid and still and his eyes were focused on the brickwork above the fireplace. _One, two, three, four…_

* * *

Lucas hadn't recognised the name on the card but then he wasn't arrogant enough to think he knew every collector. And anyone who could afford a six-figure bottle of red ought to be known to someone… Lucas picked up the phone and called the helpful freelance journalist who was working on the little profile piece.

Twenty minutes later, he had a name and more importantly, he knew the bottle of wine in question and six figures was a modest sum. Now, all he had to do was find the boy.

As luck would have it, the boy found him. Not literally. The boy couldn't have _known _Lucas's plans for the day. Lucas couldn't believe his eyes when he spotted the blond sulking and skulking at an upmarket coffee house as he walked past the window.

The boy looked up with surprise as Lucas slid into the seat opposite.

"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded.

"Someone who wants to do you a favour," Lucas told him and watched the aggression in the kid's eyes die down and be replaced by wary greed. "I was in the restaurant the other night and I couldn't help but hear your little contretemps with your father."

"My little what?"

"Your argument. I think we might be in a position to scratch each other's backs."

"You ain't getting anywhere near my back."

Fuck, the boy was slow.

"Look, son. Jimmy. We each got access to something the other wants."

Suspicion appeared on the blond kid's face.

"You trying to pick me up?"

Lucas laughed heartily and then his eyes went cold and clinical. "I'm trying to make you rich, you little prick. Listen to me."

* * *

The handover was the most nerve-racking facet of the operation. Rusty hoped that Lucas would put down any edginess he might spot in him as anxiety on Jimmy's part.

"Here." He held up Wilson's masterpiece. "You got my money?"

Lucas clicked open an attaché case and it was just like the movies. Rows and rows of dollar bills. Rusty reached over and picked up a couple of bundles, flicking through them.

"We got a deal, Jimmy?" Lucas asked softly.

Rusty saw his eyes were focused on the bottle and he handed it over.

"Take it," he said. "We got what we want, right?"

Reverently, Lucas held the red wine and smiled. "We do."

* * *

"Well done," Carter congratulated him as Rusty gave him the money. "Very smooth."

"Did good, kid," Rod told him and Stevie clapped him on the shoulder.

Saul sat and smiled at him and looked like he would never stop.

* * *

Rusty'd floated up the steps to Lila's flat on a cloud of success and accomplishment: a high that he didn't think he was going to come down from for a while.

"_You coming home or you want me to drop you at Lila's?" Saul had asked and Rusty had flushed and smiled._

Lila. He wanted to celebrate and even though he wasn't going to tell her a word about the reason he was so up, he was certainly going to make sure she enjoyed the benefits.

He knocked on the door and there was no answer. He frowned. He knew her shift patterns by heart and she wasn't working. There was still no answer when he knocked again and he sighed, deflated. Lila was out and there was nothing he could do about it but come back later.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs Anderson, the super, was waiting.

"She wanted you to have this," she said abruptly and shoved an envelope into his hands.

He tore it open and read the scrawly handwriting with half an ear on Mrs Anderson's accompanying words.

"_Rusty. I wanted to wait but I couldn't."_

"She upped and left a day ago."

"_My man wrote me he was up for parole_ _and he got out today."_

"Owes me rent."

"_I really think he's changed. We're going to try and make it work."_

"Two weeks."

"_I just want you to know that it was fantastic. You were fantastic. I..." _There were some words started and scratched out as if Lila had just given up on what she was trying to say. "_Goodbye, Rusty."_

"Two weeks," Mrs Anderson said again pointedly.

Wordlessly, he screwed up the letter, dug out his wallet, handed over a bundle of notes then turned and walked away, feeling the words burn through the letter and into his fist.

"It's too much," Mrs Anderson called after him.

It was.


	23. Entertaining

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: relinquishing any title claim. Mostly because no court's going to uphold it.

A/N: Sorry. It's been a while. :) And this chapter begins the morning after the end of the previous chapter.

Thanks to otherhawk for the pre-read.

Chapter Twenty-three: Entertaining

* * *

Annie woke up in her favourite place in the world. Saul's arms. She lay still, not wanting to move, to spoil the moment. Saul was fast asleep but he'd stir the moment she did.

She studied him as he slept. Nowadays, his face was busy gathering tiny life lines and she wondered what he'd look like in ten or twenty or thirty years' time. Still her Saul. Still her man. Funny and loving and caring and clever and sexy and special and hers. She couldn't imagine not being with him.

Her left leg betrayed her. An involuntary twitch of muscle and Saul's eyes opened. He saw her and the smile on his lips and in his eyes was immediate and at full force.

"Morning. Have I told you recently how much I-"

Annie shut him up with a kiss.

* * *

Later and they sat eating breakfast.

"No Rusty?" Annie asked and Saul gave a little half-shrug.

"Dropped him at Lila's last night. Guess we'll see him for dinner tonight."

Annie nodded thoughtfully.

"Job went well, Annie. Rusty was…he's a natural at this."

The swell of pride filled his voice and he saw Annie smiling fondly, both for him and for Rusty.

"Here," and she pushed the newspaper into his hands and there were warm buttered bagels and everything that he wanted in the world.

He opened up the paper and studied the dogs. It had been a while since he'd gone dog-racing. Maybe, Rusty would like to-

"It's Thanksgiving next week," Annie began, topping up Saul's coffee and interrupting his reverie. "I was talking to Hilary and Bert. They're going off to Florida on vacation and Lucy's house-sitting for them. She's coming up at the weekend."

"Uh huh." Saul smiled at her. "It'll be nice to see Lucy again. You asked her round for Thanksgiving dinner?"

"Yes," Annie nodded. There was a pause and then she murmured, "I wondered about inviting Marty."

"Well, he won't come," Saul said decisively. "He'll either be working or heading to his sister's in Minnesota."

There was another pause and when he looked up at Annie, her mouth was set in a way that he didn't really understand. She _knew_ that Marty took the holiday shifts so that others could spend time with their families. And if he did get time off, he would be heading to St Paul's.

"You could ask him," Annie suggested, her voice, even and calm, buttering a bagel for herself.

"Hey, I could ask him," Saul agreed brightly, folding the paper and putting it to one side. Maybe she thought Marty wanted a change this year. Well, he'd humour her.

"You could go and see him today," Annie went on, her eyes on her plate.

Saul frowned and stared at her hard because there was _something… _he gave up and shrugged. "I could at that."

She looked up and smiled brilliantly at him and Saul lost himself for a moment in her eyes. Then the door opened and Rusty unexpectedly slid into a chair, muttering good mornings.

* * *

Annie's smile started and then started to falter as she studied his face. Damn it. He was supposed to be making a living out of fooling people.

"Sorry, Annie. Overslept a bit." Charm and deflect.

Annie didn't seem completely convinced but she did look like she was willing to let it go. Saul's thoughtful half-frown said that he'd heard the reluctance to share and that he wasn't going to forget. Rusty sighed inwardly and busied himself buttering toast.

"You got plans for the day, Rusty?" Saul asked him. "You going to look in on Sam?"

Sam. The garage. The diner. _Too soon _whispered across his mind and he almost immediately argued with himself. The sooner he did this, the better.

"Yeah. Guess so."

"I'm heading out to see Marty. I'll drop you at Sam's first, if you like."

He nodded and gave a quick, tight smile.

"We were just talking about Thanksgiving. What about Lila, Rusty?" Annie asked. "Would she like to join us for dinner?"

He stopped in mid-mouthful and then swallowed the toast quickly. He'd hoped he would get a few more days' grace than this.

"Lila and I aren't together anymore."

"You split up?"

Annie's eyes were wide and she was half-out of her chair. Rusty waved her back down again and shook his head at the concern in Saul's face.

"It's OK. Really, it is. She's left town and she's back with a guy she knew before me."

"He got parole," Saul said heavily.

"Yeah. Look," Rusty said quickly, "it's all good. I knew this wasn't forever. We both knew that. No, Annie," as she half-rose again, "I'm fine."

His eyes asked both of them to accept and they both nodded at the unspoken request.

Conversation turned to the likelihood of rain and the news that Alison and Greg Halloway were buying a new car and that Madge and Iris next door had finally had the loose roof tile fixed. Small talk and he loved them for it.

Rusty stood up and helped clear the table, taking plates out to the kitchen and he hadn't realised Annie had followed him until he found himself enveloped in a fierce, fierce hug, her arms wrapping round him from behind.

"I'm OK, Annie," he said gently.

"Sure you are," she whispered into his shoulder. "Sure."

* * *

Saul waited until they were in the car and driving.

"How'd you find out?"

Rusty shrugged.

"Went to her place last night and she wasn't waiting. She'd left a note."

His eyes were straight ahead and on the road but he still saw the sideways glance that Saul shot him, could still read the volumes of concern in that look.

"'m OK," he said for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Saul gave a quick smile.

"No, you're not," he corrected, reaching over and squeezing Rusty's arm. "But you will be."

* * *

Saul hadn't seen Marty since Atlantic City and the days of healing. When there was pain and injury, there weren't many better sights to open his eyes to than Marty, professional and reassuring.

Marty's face lit up when he saw him at his office door.

"Come on in! Take a seat. How are you doing?" Marty's face turned serious. "How are you doing?"

Saul smiled. "I'm fine. This is a social call."

"Well, I'm all for that. Cathy?" He waited till Cathy appeared. "Could you rustle up a couple of coffees, please?"

Saul looked at the woman in the doorway and his breath caught. Her face was that of one who had lost hope some time ago.

"Two coffees, Cathy?" Marty repeated gently.

Dull eyes. A nod. And she disappeared.

"Same story?" Saul asked quietly.

"Yeah." Marty looked troubled. "Not sure how it's going to end." He shook himself. "Anyway. Tell me what you've been getting up to. Hope it's been a lot of fun."

* * *

Saul had drunk the coffee and shot the breeze and it wasn't till he was standing up to leave that he remembered and asked.

"Annie wanted me to invite you round for Thanksgiving next week, Marty."

Marty looked apologetic. "That's really sweet of her, Saul, but I can't make it."

Saul nodded. "I told Annie as much. At your sister's or working, I said. How is your sister, anyway?"

"Fine. Hard to believe her three kids are teenagers now. Soon be leaving home."

"Yeah. Well, Lucy's coming - it's not like we're going to be short of company. Shame you can't make it, Marty." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks for the coffee. See you soon."

He walked out and smiled at Cathy, sat at the desk, staring unseeing at paperwork. Looking as if he'd opened a fortune cookie and found the bill, Marty stood in his doorway and watched him go.

* * *

"Sam?" Rusty called, walking into the garage.

Sam straightened up from under the hood of a Buick and wiped his hands on a rag.

"Been wondering where you'd been." Sam smiled. "Thought you'd forgotten me."

Guilt flooded through Rusty. It had indeed been a while. Four weeks at least.

"Sorry, Sam."

Sam grinned. "I'm only ribbing you. Grab a set of overalls and come and join me."

There was some serenity to be had in working with his hands on the mechanical. In getting his hands dirty and letting the details flood through his brain. In listening to Sam's guidance.

Rusty felt something inside him settle. Some of the smarting pain subside. He'd always remember Lila. She'd made him comfortable with his body. She'd made sex…well…sexy again. No, he wasn't going to forget Lila. But letting her go wasn't hurting so much.

"You got much work on, Sam?" he asked suddenly.

Sam considered the question. "Enough…" He gave Rusty a shrewd look. "Enough that I could do with the help."

Rusty nodded to himself. He knew exactly where he was going to be spending the next few days.

* * *

Lucy's arrival on the Sunday made Saul smile. Well, it made Annie smile and that was kind of infectious.

"Good to see you again," he said as Annie brought Lucy through to the lounge.

"Good to be here," Lucy beamed, as Annie brought in the tray of coffee. "Though if my grandparents tell me again where the fusebox is and how much plant food and water each plant needs, then I may just scream."

"Hilary and Bert worry too much," Saul agreed fondly.

"It's true," Annie added. "Whenever I've been on plant watering duty, they label each plant with a number and there's this-"

"-colour coded list of instructions?" Lucy finished. "Oh, yes. Still." Her face was shining. "It's lovely to be here."

"You can help me prepare Thanksgiving dinner if you like," Annie told her. "It'll be fun!"

Lucy laughed.

"I doubt I'm going to be much help. Unless you want someone to talk to you and drink wine while you cook."

Annie smiled happily. "I think that'd be perfect."

Saul shook his head. "I always have to chop vegetables," he complained to Lucy.

Lucy looked sympathetic. "Just do it badly once," she suggested. "You'll never get asked again."

Saul chuckled. Oh, he liked her.

* * *

The next morning and Lucy was stood on the doorstep again. She looked slightly awkward and hesitant and Saul raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"You want to borrow a cup of sugar?" he smiled and she flushed.

"Sorry," she said at once. "I just…sorry. I shouldn't have come round."

She made to go.

"Hey!" Saul exclaimed. "What is it?"

Lucy sighed. "I'm sorry, Saul. I don't mean to intrude. I don't want to be this annoying little woman who doesn't know when she's-"

"Lucy!" Annie's delighted voice sailed down the hall from behind him. "Oh, _good_! I'll put the kettle on."

Saul held the door wide open.

"Come on in," he said with emphasis and Lucy flushed again.

"Thank you," she murmured as she walked past him.

* * *

The ringing cut through the middle of the coffee and the cakes and the chatter.

"I'll get it," Annie offered and disappeared into the hall to answer the phone.

"Annie?"

It was Marty.

"Hello, Marty! How are-"

"Annie, it's Marty."

Yes. She knew. She frowned. His voice sounded nervous. Marty never sounded this kind of nervous.

"Saul said that…he mentioned that you…when Saul stopped by, he…he…"

Another phone call echoed in her head.

"_Thanksgiving? Oh, I'd _love_ to! Will…will anyone…I mean, who else –er…thanks, Annie. I'd love to."_

Every feminine instinct within her had reacted to that. And those same instincts were alive right now.

"Thanksgiving?"

Saul was suddenly at her shoulder.

"That Marty?" he stage whispered. "He can't come."

"You told me," she mouthed back and pointed towards the kitchen. She waited till Saul had disappeared and then spoke into the receiver. "Can you make it now, Marty?"

"Er, yes. Yes. Please. Thank you." The relief was palpable.

Annie smiled.

"Come round about six o'clock on Thursday, Marty."

"Thank you. Yes. I'll see you then."

She hung up and turned back towards the kitchen, smile still in place.

"Marty's coming to Thanksgiving," she announced brightly as she sat down again.

The colour rose in Lucy's face.

"He _is?" _Saul exclaimed. "Well, that's a first."

"Would you put the kettle on again, Saul, dear? We'll have another coffee and then Lucy and I need to go shopping."

"You do?" Saul's eyebrows shot up. "But it's only one more guest and you always make enough-"

"There are some extra things we need to pick up," she interrupted and there was enough in her voice to tell Saul not to argue.

* * *

Saul had been right, of course. She had enough food laid in to feed the five thousand without having to resort to a miracle.

"I thought we were shopping," Lucy said, frowning down at the handbasket with the perfunctory items.

"Well, I thought we might have a look at the department store," Annie said airily, busying herself paying for the items. "I fancy something new to wear for Thursday."

"Oh!" Lucy looked taken aback by the suggestion. She recovered quickly. "Oh, that's…that's a great idea."

* * *

The store was busy and the womenswear section particularly so. They picked out some clothes together – Annie insisting that Lucy had to try the jade green dress and Lucy, in turn, adamant that the rich red top was just right for Annie – and then they wandered slightly apart, looking at skirts and shirts and shoes.

Trying on a pair of black patent sandals, Lucy jumped as she heard:

"Well, if it isn't little Lucy."

One sandal on and one sandal off, Lucy turned lopsided and looked up at the blonde bob and the perfect make-up. The woman with all the little remarks that you couldn't quite take offence at. Well, two could play at that game.

"Mildred, right?" she said.

A little row of pearly white teeth appeared.

"Millicent," came the correction.

"Millicent. Of course. How could I forget?"

"Have you come visiting? How very nice. You here long?"

"A couple of weeks." There was a silence and Lucy found herself speaking to fill it. "My grandparents are away and I'm house-sitting."

"Well, I guess that's safer."

Lucy frowned and opened her mouth to ask the question but Millicent swept on.

"Spending Thanksgiving with Annie and Saul, no doubt."

"That's right. Thanksgiving dinner, actually."

"Well, Annie is a wonderful cook. I'm sure you'll pick up lots of tips on being the perfect little woman, if you should ever marry."

"If I ever do," Lucy said tightly. Not like she felt she was missing out.

"Oh, don't lose hope! There's still time."

That wasn't what she'd meant. And Millicent knew it. Lucy felt her temper rising.

"Millicent."

Annie's voice at her shoulder and Lucy forced herself to stay calm. She was Annie's guest and she mustn't cause a scene.

"Annie, darling. Lucy and I were just saying hello. So nice to catch up."

Millicent flashed a bright little smile.

"I have to be going," she said, checking her watch ostentatiously enough to make sure Lucy and Annie both saw the gold and the diamonds. "Enjoy your stay, Lucy."

"Well, she doesn't change," Lucy declared.

"What did she say?" Annie's voice was low and intense and worried.

"Nothing important." It _had _been nothing. And she wasn't going to let Millicent spoil her visit. She smiled at Annie. "So. What do you think about these sandals?"

* * *

Six o'clock on Thanksgiving Thursday and Rusty and Saul were banished to the lounge while Annie and Lucy were busy in the kitchen. The knock at the door was right on time.

"That'll be Marty," Annie murmured, her hands suddenly full of a turkey tin. "Would you mind getting that for me, Lucy?"

"Sure," Lucy cleared her throat. "Sure."

Out in the hall and Saul beat her to the front door. Marty stood awkwardly in the doorway, bouquet of flowers in one hand and bottle of wine in the other.

"Marty!" Saul said happily. "Come on in."

"Thanks." Marty stepped inside and pushed the wine at Saul. He saw Lucy and smiled, handing her the flowers. "Hi."

"Hi," she smiled back. "Carnations. Beautiful. They're for Annie, right?"

"Right," he said, a second later. "Right."

Annie had followed her into the hall and Lucy handed the flowers over. "Oh, Marty, you shouldn't have. I'll go and put these in water. Saul, you take Marty and Lucy through to the lounge and get them some drinks. I'll just finish up and join you."

* * *

"Hello, Rusty."

"Marty."

Rusty stood up and shook his hand and Marty felt the confidence in that handshake. He cast a quick professional eye over the boy – the man – and thought back to when he'd met him – wary and compliant - for the first time a little over a year ago. Rusty looked like he'd grown an inch or so then. Looked like he'd filled out a little too. Well, that was down to good, regular food. The self-assurance came from security and love, from Saul and Annie offering, from Rusty accepting.

"I'm feeling OK," Rusty murmured, frowning slightly and a fever a year ago flashed across Marty's mind. Not what he'd been thinking about.

"Glad to hear it," Marty smiled and saw the frown disappear. Rusty looked settled and healthy and happy. Good.

Saul brought him a beer and interrupted his reverie.

"Thanks." Marty turned his attention to Lucy at his side. "Hi."

"Hi, again," she smiled, taking the glass of wine from Saul.

"How's your ankle?"

"My…? Oh, my ankle! It's fine." Lucy stuck her foot out and wiggled it.

Obediently, Marty's eyes dropped down to the ankle in question.

"It looks fine," he agreed and quickly swallowed a mouthful of beer, raised his gaze and changed the subject. "What's new with you?"

"Well, I'm still unemployed. Still looking. My redundancy package was very generous but I'm nearly through it." Lucy gave a resigned shrug. "What I get for being fussy, I suppose."

"You make sure it's the right thing," Saul told her. "You gonna go out and spend eight hours a day doing something, make sure it's something you enjoy."

"That's good advice," Marty nodded. He looked thoughtfully in Rusty's direction and back again.

"It is," Lucy agreed. "You know, I'd like to try something different."

"Like what?" the question came from Rusty, soft and wondering.

"Like…" Lucy waved a vague hand. She sighed. "I don't know. Just something."

"Half an hour and we can sit down to dinner," Annie announced, walking through, glass of wine in hand.

"A toast," Saul said, grabbing Annie around the waist and raising his bottle of beer. "To what Thanksgiving is all about. Friends and family."

"To friends and family," they all chorused.

A heavy knock at the door stilled the conversation.

"Well, who…?" Annie frowned, peering through the window.

"I'll get it," Rusty offered and made his way into the hall.

* * *

Rusty threw open the door and like the bad fairy at the christening, there stood Millicent.

Shock rushing through him, he stared at her and the summer afternoon flashed through his head. Hands on his body, gripping him…the struggle, desperate and frantic…

"_Come on, baby, you don't need to pretend…"_

Five months since the afternoon when she'd tried… Rusty swallowed and the mask slipped into place. He knew how to do this. Keep it all away from his face. Don't let her see. Don't let her see a thing.

"Well, hello, baby." Millicent's smile was immediate. "Miss me?"

She stepped past him into the hall and shrugged off the fur coat that was round her shoulders. Rusty caught it automatically.

"You can't-" he began but Millicent's hand was already pushing the door to the lounge open.

He followed in time to hear the sharp intake of breath and the exclamation.

"Millicent!"

Annie's eyes were wide and fury was dawning in Saul's face.

"Well, isn't this cosy?"

Annie was at his side in a moment, pulling the fur from his arms, keeping her body between him and Millicent.

"What are you doing here?" Saul rapped out.

"Can't I pop in and wish you all a happy Thanksgiving?"

"Rusty, take Lucy and Marty through to the dining-room," Saul instructed.

Mulish defiance rose up in his face. He could take whatever Millicent-

"Now!" Saul snapped.

"Come on, Rusty," Marty murmured, his hand on Lucy's elbow and reluctantly, Rusty led them across the hall to the dining-room. Saul's house. Saul's rules.

"You OK?" Marty asked in an undertone and Rusty's eyes widened. Oh, Marty _knew…_

"What's this all about?" asked Lucy, who equally obviously didn't.

* * *

"What do you want, Millicent?" And the shocked anger was rich in Annie's voice.

"You dare show your face here." Saul's voice was tight. "You dare come to our house, our home..."

He tailed off. This woman…this woman who hurt because she could…because she enjoyed it…

Millicent flashed them both a quick, impatient smile and Saul nearly forgot himself. A hushed _"Saul"_ from Annie was all that held him in place.

"Now, I rather thought we had a deal," Millicent said. Her eyes were on Annie. "It's been five months and I'm still waiting for my invitation to dinner."

"You can wait!" Saul couldn't stop the fury exploding within him.

Millicent carried on as if she hadn't heard him.

"It's alright for you to have Lucy round. Lucy, whom you've seen a handful of times in your life. But me? Your friend who's shared your _life_ with you? Who's _saved_ your life?"

There was irritation and Saul heard raw resentment in there too. Tough.

"I want Lucy here," Annie said tonelessly.

Millicent's lips tightened.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," she went on, her tone pleasant and light. "I'm here to invite you to Christmas dinner."

Saul's snort was loud and the light and the pleasant dropped away.

"You think I haven't got photos?" she murmured and her eyes were steel. "You think I wouldn't call Marty as a witness?"

Saul saw the colour drain from Annie's face and her eyes were troubled. He knew how she felt.

"Good." Millicent pulled the fur coat from Annie's unresisting arms. "I'll be expecting you."

* * *

The door to the dining-room was open and Rusty had placed himself deliberately in the doorway, ready to…ready to do whatever. Millicent emerged from the lounge and for the briefest of moments, their eyes met and she smiled and Rusty set his jaw.

Then, Annie and Saul were in the hallway and Marty and Lucy were behind him and Millicent was out of the door and gone.

"What did she want?" Rusty demanded.

Annie looked shaken and Saul's arm was round her.

"Are you OK?" Rusty asked, adrenaline dying.

Lucy was frowning at Annie. Neither Marty nor he had told her a thing and to be fair, they didn't actually _know_ what Millicent wanted. Now Lucy's bewilderment was fading into concern.

"Annie?" Lucy frowned.

Annie drew herself upright.

"Let's not let her spoil Thanksgiving," she said decisively.

* * *

The meal was up to Annie's usual, i.e. amazing and delicious. Tender meat and tasty vegetables and rich gravy and plenty of it. Rusty never took the food for granted but for the first time ever, he wasn't up to clearing his plate. Millicent's visit hung over the table like a shroud.

Oh, they all tried. Annie and Saul and Lucy and Marty. The conversation was bright but brittle, a varnish covering what they all really wanted to talk about.

Dinner was over sooner than it should have been.

"No, thanks," Marty smiled when Annie offered him a coffee. "I have to be going."

"Me, too," Lucy added quickly. "No, really," she added as Annie started to protest. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Marty echoed.

A tight little smile flashed up on Annie's face. "This wasn't what I… Let's do this again properly soon."

"Soon," Marty nodded.

"That'd be nice," Lucy smiled.

Marty turned to Lucy. "Can I walk you home?"

* * *

Outside and the door closed behind them, Lucy exhaled.

"Well…"

"Yeah…" Marty sighed.

They walked in silence to the end of the garden path.

"Do you really have to be going?" Lucy asked nervously. "Or would you like a coffee?"

Marty's face crinkled. "I'd love one."

* * *

The door shut behind Lucy and Marty and Rusty couldn't wait any longer.

"Tell me."

* * *

Saul led the way back into the lounge.

"Millicent's invited us for Christmas dinner," Saul explained heavily.

The image of sharing the holiday with Millicent, of sitting round a table and listening to Millicent digging away at Annie…_breathy little murmurs of "baby" when she thought no one was listening… _Rusty swallowed.

"It's my fault," Annie said at once. "I promised Millicent that I'd spend time with her and I haven't."

"Well, we're not _going,_ are we?"

The thought was unbearable but neither Saul nor Annie were meeting his eyes and that didn't make sense unless...

Realisation hit.

"It's me," he said leadenly. "What did she say?"

Annie's hand went up to her mouth. "She said she could still…_say_…something."

"Well, _let_ her!" Rusty felt the anger ripple through him. "Call her bluff!"

Saul put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Rusty, if she goes to the police, they have to investigate. They have to question you." Saul took a deep breath. "And if they…if they…"

Saul tailed off. He turned his back and moved away abruptly. When he spoke again, his voice was matter-of-fact and emotionless.

"You're young and fit and strong. Millicent will make a good case of being a weak and feeble woman. Millicent is local and well-known. Even after a year, you're still a stranger in town. And if this ends up in court…" Saul turned back to face him and his expression was tight. "They'll put you on the stand and they'll ask you about your sex life. They'll want to know who and how many and when. They'll bring up Lila. They'll…"

Saul didn't have to finish that sentence either. They'd dig up the past. Somehow. They'd fix him to the witness stand and they'd bring up the time of MacAvoy. The time of artexed ceilings and a green tasselled lamp. Of sweat and sex and survival. Of pain and filth and degradation.

"There could be a jail sentence." There was a catch in Saul's voice now. "I've known some guys who've been inside. It leaves a mark."

"Oh, Rusty…" Annie's voice was anguished and he realised with a start that he was trembling.

With an effort, he controlled himself and stood straight and tall.

"Let her," Rusty said again and his voice was steady. "Call her bluff."

Saul flicked him a smile of pride and sadness.

"It doesn't stop there, Rusty. Even if they don't believe her…you're seventeen. You're not of age. You…you aren't related to us. They can…"

…_take you away. _

The words hung in the air between them and Annie let out a little gasp and wrapped her arms around Rusty as if trying to protect him and hold on to him all at the same time.

"We go to dinner," Saul said.

Rusty looked at Annie's face and back at Saul and reluctantly nodded. Christmas was officially cancelled.


	24. A Simple Plan Part One

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: didn't create any part of the Ocean's world.

A/N: This is a two-parter. Was going to keep it all together but to be honest, it probably works better as two separate chapters. otherhawk imagines that this means the second part is going to be along sometime soon. *loud snort of laughter*. Oh, and picks up the same evening as the end of the last chapter.

Chapter Twenty-four: A Simple Plan Part One

* * *

Annie was already in bed, the covers pulled round her, when Saul came through from the bathroom. Saul looked at the hunched figure and he could _feel_ the wave of misery rippling towards him.

"Oh, Annie…" he sighed.

He sat on her side of the bed and gently pulled the covers back. She had been crying. Saul drew her up and into his arms and held her tightly. Something muffled its way into his shoulder.

"What, my love?" he asked.

"He's s-s-so young!" she managed. "I keep th-thinking about him alone and locked up and n-no one to l-look after hiiiiiim!"

The last word disappeared into a wail. Saul pressed his lips to her forehead and felt the heavy sobs rocking through her.

"It won't come to that," he said with confidence.

"B-but if it d-did," she insisted wretchedly.

"Look at me, Annie," Saul put his hand on her shoulder and tilted her face to his. "Before that happened, we'd get him out of town. The people I know can help, Annie. Rusty would have a new name and a new life overseas before the police got anywhere near him. It won't come to that."

His eyes were brown and warm and full of love and strength and determination and absolute truth. Slowly, surely, Annie calmed down. Slowly, surely, her breathing returned to normal. Saul kissed her cheek and she swallowed and smiled at him and nodded.

Saul climbed into the bed and folded her close.

* * *

Rusty was finding sleep hard to come by. Seeing Millicent again had been…unsettling. And there was just something in the way she acted; as if what had happened had never happened; as if what had never happened wasn't wrong; as if nothing could touch her. He understood a little about how it had been for Annie over the years. Millicent just paralysed reaction.

And knowing that she was using him to get to Annie, to dig at Saul… Making them jump through hoops. Rusty gritted his teeth. He still wanted to stand in front of Millicent and dare her to do her worst. Thing was, he could see those sharp little teeth and hear that breathy little voice and see the delight in her eyes… Oh, she'd _love_ it. And Annie and Saul… Rusty thought about the way Annie had held on to him. The way she'd wanted to keep him there and safe. He thought about the look on Saul's face when he'd talked about the investigation. He couldn't bear to see them hurting like that.

His fingers curled into his palms with impotent fury and he lay and fantasised about an unexpected tornado snatching Millicent up, up and away.

* * *

Saul gave Rusty a bright smile as he walked into the Annie-less kitchen.

"Annie's having a lie-in. You got breakfast made by me, I'm afraid. If this grill ever decides to turn the bread brown."

Saul pulled the grill pan out and poked the untoasted bread with a frown.

"You've got the oven on," Rusty pointed out and reached over and with a deft click, fired up the electric grill.

Saul replaced the grill pan and turned off the oven. "Good job you came down. Might have been waiting a while."

He glanced at the tightness in Rusty's face and he grew serious. "Rusty, it's going to be alright. I absolutely promise you."

Honesty and trust and confidence. Unmistakable and he wasn't trying to sell it. He believed and he only hoped Rusty believed enough in him. Some of the tension seemed to ease out of Rusty and Saul nodded. Good.

"Grab some orange juice," he suggested. "And please don't tell Annie I tried to roast the toast."

* * *

Puffy-eyed, Annie blinked back into consciousness and found Saul and a tray of buttered toast and coffee sitting beside her.

"Breakfast in bed?" she said with a weak smile, sitting up. "You about to tell me you're going to be gone for a month?"

Saul smiled and reached out and brushed her hair back off her face.

"Rusty's gone to Sam's."

Annie's hand stopped in its journey towards the cup of coffee. "Is he-"

"He's doing OK. He's strong, Annie. And so are we. Millicent isn't going to win."

Annie nodded and looked reassured. She picked up a piece of toast and examined it with a gentle frown.

"You're going to tell me it's not brown enough?"

"No, no…just that it's supposed to be brown on both sides, you know."

Saul huffed. "Details, details."

Annie put the toast down and reached out and squeezed his hand.

"I'm not complaining," she whispered.

* * *

Rusty found that Sam had opened up the garage but hadn't got much further with the day.

"Might have enjoyed Thanksgiving a little too much," Sam explained, clutching his head. "Try and work quietly, yeah? I'm going to catch up on some paperwork in the office."

Rusty picked up a wrench and headed over to the Chevy. He'd barely popped the hood when the soft snores from the office told him that Sam was certainly catching up on something.

* * *

Lucy opened the door to find an apologetic Annie.

"I'm so sorry about last night," Annie began in a rush. "Really I am. I wanted it to be-and it wasn't-and I'm so _sorry_."

"Oh, Annie, it's fine. It's really OK. Come on in." Lucy ushered her into the kitchen. "Cup of coffee?"

Annie nodded and smiled then sat down awkwardly at the kitchen table and tried to apologise again.

"I wanted last night to be nice. I was looking forward to it."

Lucy nodded. "I was too. And it _was _nice to see everyone again. I'm just sorry Millicent showed up. What did she want?"

Annie didn't answer immediately nor did she meet Lucy's eyes. "She just…she didn't like not being invited."

And that was part of it. Most certainly part of it. There was something else, just underneath and Lucy waited. Nothing more was forthcoming. Lucy frowned. She had a definite sensation of being on the wrong side of the door. She opened her mouth to ask but then Annie's head turned, her attention undoubtedly caught by the two coffee cups on the kitchen table. She looked up at Lucy and Lucy felt the colour rising in her face.

"Marty…" The words were surprisingly difficult to get out.

"Oh," Annie said and there was nothing and everything in the word and the blush grew fiercer.

"_No,"_ she said firmly. "Not… Just coffee."

"Oh," Annie said again without any kind of tone.

"We talked," Lucy said helplessly.

They had. About everything and anything and Lucy couldn't remember exactly what she'd said but she'd remembered the feeling of electricity that had been arcing across the table. The feeling that if she'd actually reached out and touched Marty, there would have been visible sparks.

"Oh."

"Stop saying that!" Lucy said exasperatedly and then she looked at Annie's eyes, shining.

"Stop saying that," she repeated weakly but Annie was on her feet and her arms were round her and suddenly they were both laughing.

* * *

"She'd do it."

Marty sighed and looked sympathetically at Saul as he sat opposite him in his office. "Wish I could argue that point but you're right."

Saul gave him a gloomy look. "Millicent's _so_…"

"Yeah," Marty agreed. "She is. How's Annie?"

"Worried. So am I. If she goes through with it…Marty, can you imagine Rusty in court? Can you imagine him in jail? _Christ_."

Marty was silent.

"I keep picturing Rusty walking into the joint. All grace and youth and beauty. And he's good at hiding but in there? In there, you've got no place to hide. All those eyes watching him…planning…waiting…"

"Don't," Marty said firmly.

Saul's eyes were full of tortured misery. "I can't stop."

Marty nodded. He doubted Saul could.

"So you're going to go to Christmas dinner?"

"Have to," Saul said shortly and rubbed a hand over his face. "Anyway. I came because I wanted to explain and to say sorry for last night. Normally, we're better hosts."

"You're excellent hosts," Marty agreed. "And I was really pleased I came."

"I'm just sorry you and Lucy felt you had to duck out-" Saul broke off and stared at him and Marty felt himself reddening. "Marty…?"

"I-er- I had a coffee with Lucy."

"You did?" There was surprise in there and a little puzzlement. "Well, that's…_oh!_"

"Just coffee," Marty said quickly. "I walked her home and she made me a cup of coffee and we sat and talked for…" _One hour? Two hours? Three?_ "…for a while."

A stupid-looking grin was forming on Saul's face.

"She's a nice girl," Marty said defensively.

"She is," Saul agreed. "I like her a lot."

"Anyway." Marty cleared his throat. "Anyway, I thought I'd take her out for a meal tonight."

He wasn't sure why he'd shared that. Except that he wanted to do something about the stupid-looking grin.

"Just a meal," he insisted and Saul nodded fervently.

The grin was still there, damn it.

* * *

The car was turning over with a satisfying thrum and Rusty straightened up from underneath the hood, grabbing a rag and wiping the grease off his hands. From the office, Sam's snoring continued unabated.

Rusty walked over to the sink and ran himself a glass of water. He'd tried to lose himself in the work but it hadn't been working. All he could think about was Millicent triumphant, presiding over the Christmas dinner table as Saul and Annie sat in misery.

There _had _to be something he could do about it. There had to be… The answer came to him in a blast of cold realisation and he almost dropped the glass.

* * *

"Tonight?" Annie couldn't hide the excitement and thoughts of Millicent were a million miles away.

"Yes, tonight. He's picking me up at seven."

Annie looked at her friend. Lucy was positively glowing.

"It's just dinner," Lucy said hurriedly. "I mean it was really nice of him to offer. He knows I'm here for a couple of weeks and I think he just took-"

"It's not that!" Annie shook her head. "He likes you, Lucy. He wasn't going to come last night. Marty nearly always does the holiday shifts at the hospital but he came to the meal instead. Don't you see?"

"Maybe…" Soft and wondering.

Annie checked her watch and let out a gasp. "Look at the time! We've got to get moving!"

"It's not even ten o'clock," Lucy pointed out with a laugh.

"Dates need a lot of preparation time. Come on. Let's go into town."

"It's not a date. It's just a meal," Lucy said but she picked up her purse anyway.

* * *

Marty had patients who needed to be seen and Saul punched his arm and walked out of the office. Not even the sight of sad-eyed Cathy was enough to bring Saul's mood down.

Marty and Lucy. He'd only known Lucy a short time but Marty he'd known for over ten years. Marty had been his _friend _for over ten years and Marty had known about the illegal side of things for nearly as long. It said something about Marty, _(maybe about Saul himself) _that Marty hadn't batted an eyelid.

_They'd dumped him on the roadside and he'd started walking in the rain. He was no doctor but his head hurt and his arm was probably broken and he didn't hold out much hope that his ribs had made it through intact. _

_Cars flashed past him, drenching him with puddle water. Suddenly, he missed his footing and he fell headlong on to the tarmac, putting out his good hand to break his fall and letting out a sharp cry as he did so, as pain shot up through him. _

_He had to get back up. He had to make it home. He wasn't anywhere near anywhere safe and he needed to get back to Annie. _

_A wave of exhaustion washed over him. His legs refused to obey him. And there was a car approaching, headlights on and he couldn't get out of the way. He couldn't… _

"_Are you alright?"_

_The car had stopped. A man was standing in the car headlights. Saul blinked up through the rain at him._

"_Don't I know you?"_

"_Marty…?" was all he could manage before he passed out._

_A place of safety. Kindness. Healing. By the time he was recovered, Marty knew everything. And their friendship had moved to another level._

Saul sat in the car and the smile was still on his face. Millicent didn't seem half as important as this. They could handle Millicent. He'd deal with Millicent. But this…

He made up his mind to get flowers for Annie and an enormous box of candy that he knew Annie and Rusty would devour between them. He'd book tickets for the cinema and tonight they would have Chinese takeout.

Life was about celebrating.

* * *

Late afternoon and Annie was opening the front door when the deep red roses appeared in front of her. She smiled.

"Oh, Saul…"

Lips pressed up against her neck. "I've got some news."

"So have I!"

They fell through the door and into the hall together, laughing.

"Lucy-!"

"Marty-!"

They grinned at each other like teenagers.

"You're going to tell me you saw this coming."

"I didn't know…" Annie shook her head. "Not for sure. Not…oh, Saul, she's so-"

"Yeah, Marty is too. Always thought he was married to his work. I mean, he's had a few girlfriends but no one special. No one that I've seen him so…"

"We mustn't-"

"No, we absolutely mustn't."

"But still…you just got to know that after tonight's date, if it all works out, they're going to be thinking-"

"About getting married!"

Saul blinked. "I was going to say about going out again."

"Oh, you men. You always look so short-term." Annie spotted the ridiculously large box in Saul's hands. "Chocolates?"

"Yeah. I know Millicent is hellbent on pulling us apart but I'm damned if I'm going to let her. We need to get some perspective. Tonight we'll get some takeout and then we'll all go out to the cinema. Take in a movie at the late show. How does that sound?"

"Sounds wonderful," Annie smiled as they opened the kitchen door. "Sounds…"

She tailed off at the sight of the pile of money on the table. Saul dropped the box of candy on the table and picked up the letter with the few brief lines.

"_Saul and Annie,_

_I don't know how to say this. I don't know how to begin to say this. But I know how to stop this…"_

* * *

Millicent's house and the door fell open at his touch. Weird, he'd never been here before but he knew exactly where she'd be. In the lounge and there she was, sprawled on the couch, wearing remarkably little.

"Well,_ hello_, baby…" Breathy and she was smiling that damn smile. Like she knew what he was going to say. Like she knew she'd already won.

"Alright," he said and Millicent understood what he was offering without him having to say another word.

She glided to her feet and her hands reached out and ran down his chest, unbuttoning his blue silk shirt and letting it hang loose, touching his skin… He bit his lip hard. It was all about lust and possession. It was only ever about lust and possession. Fingers stroked and caressed and her mouth brushed against his neck and the memory trace was burning through him, fierce and awful. He stood and let her. Because this was the bargain. This was the price.

She pushed him back down on to the couch and her mouth covered his and he felt like screaming inside.

An eon later and "Mrs Rowntree, we've seen enough".

His head jerked round and there were cops in the room. Cops who'd been watching. Cops who thought they knew the truth…

He was pulled to his feet and dragged off the couch.

"We'll take it from here, Mrs Rowntree."

They were arresting him.

No. _No._

"Tell them!" he demanded and Millicent's eyes were full of amusement.

"Tell them!" he begged and she wasn't saying a damn thing.

It hadn't made a blind bit of difference. Millicent had twisted things as she always did. He struggled in their grasp and Millicent was in front of him, smiling.

"I'll see you in court, baby."

He shuddered-

-and woke up, breathless and heart pounding.

Nightmare. He shuddered again.

* * *

"…_I don't want Millicent hurting either of you because of me. You're both… I never had anyone who looked out for me the way you do. _

_I'm going to get out of town. It's been amazing being with you and I will never forget either of you. You're all I could have ever wanted as family._

_Rusty."_

Annie's face was white. "He's gone?"

Saul's fingers tightened on the note and a look of exasperation and anger flooded his face. "The boy is an _idiot!"_

* * *

Blinking, Rusty straightened up and looked around him. The sun was lower in the sky and the road was quieter too. No one else in the layby and that was probably fortunate. Last night's lack of sleep had finally caught up with him and he'd had to catch forty winks. He checked his watch and the map. If he kept driving, he could make the next three towns by nightfall.


	25. A Simple Plan Part Two

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: just borrowing the characters from the great character library.

A/N: eagle-eyed readers will spot that this is not the end of this chapter and that I remain as numerically challenged as ever. This will surprise no one. :)

Chapter Twenty-five: A Simple Plan Part Two

* * *

**Day One**

Flowers in hand, Marty stood on the doorstep and shifted from one foot to other. Ridiculous, he told himself, absolutely ridiculous. Wasn't like he'd been called on to speak at a symposium. He took a deep breath and rang the bell. Lucy appeared and the smile bloomed on Marty's face without him realising.

"You look lovely," he said and meant it.

"Thank you," she said and smiled up at him.

There was a long moment and then Marty remembered the carnations.

"I brought you these."

White carnations. Same as he'd taken Annie the previous night. That had to be safe, right? Lucy had held them and she 'd looked like she'd liked them. They had to be a good choice, right?

"Thank you," she said again. "They're beautiful."

Good. Good. Marty felt like he'd passed his first viva at med school.

"I'll put these in water," Lucy said. "Would you like to come in?"

"Thanks."

He felt he should have said more. Maybe, he should have said more. What more was there to say? Damn but he needed to calm down. He waited in the kitchen while Lucy found a vase and wondered whether she could hear his heart thumping.

* * *

"Yes. No. No, I understand, Bobby. No. Yes. _Thank_ you. Yes. I'll be there."

Saul hung up and took a deep breath then went into the lounge. Annie was sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped round her knees. She was pale as she had been since they'd found the note. She'd been quiet too which was understandable. What was there to say?

"I caught Bobby at home," Saul said, sitting down beside her and taking her hands in his.

He spoke to Bobby maybe a handful of times a year and every time it was like they just picked up the conversation where it had left off. There was an ease and a warmth to it all and Saul counted Bobby as a very good friend. He'd never had to ask Bobby about something like this before.

"_It's Rusty." He'd told Bobby about Rusty before. Not about…that was private. But he'd told him about Rusty's brilliance just like he'd told Carter. _

"_What's happened?" Bobby read his tone at once._

"I checked with Bobby about the car."

Annie nodded.

"_Is it in his name?"_

"_Yes."_

"_You want me to report it stolen?"_

"If it's reported stolen, then they can put out an alert."

Annie's eyes were wide and unblinking.

"They can…" Saul swallowed. "They can pull Rusty over. Arrest him."

There was a small noise of pain from Annie and Saul squeezed her hands.

"I know. I know. It's not an option."

It wouldn't be Bobby or anyone Bobby knew pulling Rusty over. It would be run of the mill cops…_Rusty, behind the steering wheel, confused but complying…Rusty, flung roughly up against the hood of the car, his hands dragged behind his back and tightly cuffed…Rusty, at the station, a stubborn teenager with men who enjoyed the power officialdom gave…Rusty, sitting in a cell with a few bruises showing and a few more unseen… _The whole point was to keep that from happening. Added to which, Saul didn't think he could face Rusty again if he'd been responsible for that.

He didn't tell Annie that he'd shared the details of the car with Bobby anyway.

"_Just in case…"_

"_Just in case." Bobby had understood the end of the sentence. "I'll keep an eye out on the official reports."_

"Did you…did you ask about reporting Rusty missing?"

_Bobby hadn't actually sighed but Saul felt that he wanted to._

"_You can do that. There will be…supplementary questions."_

"The authorities are going to want to know why we're so interested in Rusty. They're going to want to know what Rusty is to us._"_

Annie's lips were trembling. Saul nodded understanding.

Rusty was _everything. _And they couldn't explain that to anyone.

* * *

Lucy sat in the Italian restaurant and tried to think of something to say that sounded witty and memorable.

"It's very nice here," she said and cursed silently. Lame, lame, lame.

Marty looked around him. "Yes. I can't say I've eaten here before but I remember Cathy saying a few months ago that she'd walked past and thought it looked nice."

Cathy. Lucy gave him a flat stare and Marty flushed.

"Cathy's my…well, my secretary."

_Oh._

"Oh."

She felt stupid and they hadn't even ordered the starters yet.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, her eyes dropping down to the menu. "It's been a while since I've done this."

"Gone out for a meal?" Marty asked lightly.

"With a man," Lucy nodded.

"Me too," Marty smiled and then added quickly, "Not with a man," then added even more quickly, "I mean, not that I have a problem with that. Just that…"

He tailed off and his face was horrified that he might have offended and she giggled suddenly and then put a hand over her mouth and then Marty's lips were twitching.

"OK," she said, taking charge. "Let's just relax and start over, shall we?"

Marty gave her a slow grin. "Let's."

* * *

"So what are we going to do?" Annie asked and her voice was quiet and calm and still like an endless sharp scream. "We can't just let him go…"

Saul reached out and stroked her hair. "No, we won't."

* * *

The pasta was delicious and the crisp white wine was smooth and once they'd both stopped trying so hard, the conversation had flowed naturally, just as it had the previous night. Marty found himself opening up and talking about things that he hadn't talked about to anyone.

"Josephine. She was called Josephine. And she liked fine wine and fancy restaurants and expensive presents and she was very taken with the idea of being married to a professional man. I met her when I was just out of medical school." He swilled the wine around the glass and frowned at it.

"You were married to her?" Lucy asked in a hushed voice.

"Engaged," he corrected. "We were engaged for five years."

Five years of wheedling and manipulation and he'd smiled helplessly and been turned round and twisted up in tighter and tighter circles of greed and the inevitable journey to the altar.

"Then she found a handsome lawyer. And suddenly, she wasn't returning my calls." He took a drink. "At first, I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I'm a bit clearer on that point now."

Lucy was silent for a moment and he wondered whether he'd shared too much too fast. Then she sighed.

"Parker Chance. High-flier at the accountancy firm I trained with. Confident and charming and a complete _bastard_."

The last word had been spoken with venom and Marty had immediately reached out and squeezed her arm without thinking. She lifted her head and her eyes were shining.

"I lived with him for eight years. I didn't realise how little of me was left until he had."

She blinked fiercely and grabbed her glass.

"Here's to avoiding life's poison," she suggested wildly.

Marty didn't take his hand off her arm. He raised his own glass.

"Here's to finding the antidote," he said gently and a little smile broke out on her face.

* * *

Carter had been his first call after Bobby.

"_I'll tell Stevie and Rod. And Wilson and Gianfranco. They've all met him. Ask them to keep an ear open. If he's in Detroit, I'll find him."_

Saul had called Reuben in Vegas and Scott in Texas and just like Bobby, they weren't people he phoned often but just like Bobby, that didn't matter in the slightest. And they were people who had influence and who _knew_ people.

"_5'11", blond, blue eyes, slim build, good-looking. Seventeen but he carries himself like he's a lot older. Great hands, natural touch. Handles cards like he's born to it…"_

Both times, he'd gone on with the description until he'd run out of useful information and then he'd tailed off, cursing the fact that neither of them had actually met Rusty. Reuben and Scott had both stepped in with gentle understanding and assurance and all the right words: Saul had hung up, grateful that his friends were the best friends he could ever find.

* * *

It came as a surprise when the waiter put the bill down on the table: Marty hadn't even noticed the time passing. He settled up, ignoring Lucy's protests.

"Next time is on me, then," she insisted and then stopped and he _knew_ she was going to apologise for being presumptuous.

"Next time," he agreed quickly and she smiled.

* * *

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry but I need you here," Saul said carefully and he knew that was the worst thing: to be the one who stayed put. "I need you here to answer the phone and take messages. To be here if Rusty calls."

_Or comes back again. _He could dream. Nothing was ever that easy.

Annie nodded and pressed the photo of Rusty into Saul's hand and he looked down at it. Rusty's birthday and Annie had insisted and Rusty was staring at the camera, slightly ill at ease and embarrassed and humouring Annie and in spite of all that, happy and contented and _there_.

They couldn't have lost him. They'd only just met him.

Saul put the photo and the strip of negatives carefully into his pocket.

"I'm going to meet up with Bobby and show him this and then…then I'm going to start looking," Saul said simply.

* * *

Marty and Lucy walked slowly back to the car. Somehow they'd ended up holding hands: neither wanted to stop.

* * *

Saul came down the stairs with a holdall packed with a few essentials. Annie didn't even try to argue about him waiting till morning.

"Not like I'm going to sleep," Saul said lightly and she gave him a weak smile of understanding and love and helplessness and gratitude and worry. "I'll be in Chicago by morning."

"Call me," she said as fiercely as she was clutching him.

"Every day at 6pm," he promised and kissed her.

* * *

In a motel in a nameless town, Rusty lay still in cheap sheets and scratchy blankets, his mind running at ninety miles an hour.

Once he'd made the decision to leave, it had been a case of leaving as quickly and quietly as he could. There'd been no one home when he'd got back from Sam's and he'd thrown some clothes into a bag and grabbed his stash of ready money. Saul had helped him open up a bank account but Rusty still felt comfortable having cash to hand. He'd left half of it on the kitchen table and scribbled a note. Not anywhere _near _enough.

He'd hesitated about taking the car but it was his. Saul and Annie had given it to him. And pragmatically, he needed transport. Public transport wasn't going to give him the independence he needed; the ability to run wherever, whenever.

Rusty rolled onto his back and did his best not to think about how comfortable his real bed was. Just as he'd sat in the diner earlier and tried not to think about Saul buying him a milkshake and a slice of cherry pie. Just as he'd eaten the greasy meatloaf and done his best not to think about Annie's cooking…

Fuck, it was going to be hard leaving Saul and Annie behind. Safety and love and _home._ He'd never thought of anywhere in that way.

He closed his eyes. He had to be strong. After all, it wasn't like he was going to live there forever. He was always going to be moving out at some point. Now was as good a time as any.

* * *

**Day Two**

Bobby went out to claim the mail and spotted the car parked on the street outside. Bobby approached the driver's window and stared at Saul's uneasily sleeping form. He knocked gently and Saul jolted upright, blinking blearily.

"Come on inside," Bobby suggested. "Molly's making pancakes."

In the kitchen, Molly was juggling a griddle-pan, a basin full of presumably pancake batter and a three-year-old wrapping his arms around her knees.

"Saul!" Her face lit up. She pushed a plate of pancakes towards them. "Head on through to the other room - Linus, Mommy is _talking, _sweetheart." She smiled indulgently at her son. "Alright, alright. Seconds coming up."

Bobby poured two mugs of coffee and led the way through to the living area. Saul took a mug gratefully and sank down on to the couch.

"When did you get here?" he asked.

Saul checked his watch. "Couple of hours ago."

"Uh huh. And how long were you thinking of leaving it till you knocked on the door?"

Saul smiled but the smile slipped away almost at once. Travelling had been all about the adrenaline and the impetus and getting to Chicago and trying not to let the worry flood over him. Bobby gave him a nod of sympathetic acknowledgement.

"You've got to pace yourself, Saul. Otherwise you'll be burnt out before you've begun."

"I know, I know."

Stamina was important. Just that speed was too. Saul fished into his pocket and produced the photo. Bobby studied it.

"He's a good-looking boy," Bobby commented.

"Yes, he is," Saul agreed. "He is good-looking and he's also intelligent and quick to learn and cool-nerved and decent…he's a fine young man, Bobby."

His voice choked on the last few words and he swallowed gulps of hot coffee to cover the moment.

Bobby took charge of the negative, taking a moment, giving Saul time to recover. He handed Saul back the original.

"I'll get a copy run off and then I'll post this back to Annie."

"Thanks." Saul pocketed it and then hesitantly took one of the pancakes, dripping with butter. He didn't feel hungry but just like sleeping, eating was necessary if he was going to do this.

"It's a big country," Bobby said softly.

Saul nodded. "He hasn't got a passport and for the moment, I don't think it'd occur to him to get one. That leaves me forty-eight states. I'm knocking out Alaska and Hawaii."

He smiled and Bobby smiled back and it helped to be talking about a plan. Oh, it wasn't like he thought Bobby would wave a wand and produce Rusty out of a hat but just knowing that Bobby knew was a comfort.

"Rusty knows cars, cards and the con," Saul went on. "And he likes to hide."

Bobby's eyes grew thoughtful.

"Believe me," Saul said, "as good-looking as he is, he's good at it. Which is why I'm targeting the big cities."

"Starting with…?"

"Not New York. Not Atlantic City. I think those are too close. Rusty'll want to put some distance between himself and…and where he's worked. Fresh start." He cleared his throat and uttered the lie, confident that Bobby wouldn't find it. "I'm going to begin with Reno."

* * *

Breakfast was a bag of Krispy Kremes. At least they were going to taste like they should. In fact, sticking to fast food seemed like a good option. Not like anything was going to compare to… _Enough._ Sitting in the car, Rusty bit into a doughnut and studied the map.

East Coast was out. Too close to home. And no small towns either. He wanted invisibility and that meant big cities. His eyes ran over a hundred different possibilities.

* * *

Saul knew the first place to look and it wasn't Reno. The last place he wanted to and nowhere that he was going to talk about to Bobby. Territory that Rusty was familiar with. Horror rose up in Saul at the very idea that Rusty had gone back to the place where he'd found him. Never the less, he had to check it out.

He arrived early evening, booked into a hotel and phoned an anxious Annie. It felt good to hear her voice; Saul just wished that he had something concrete to tell her.

He hung up and went out, walking the streets, trying not to think about Rusty coming anywhere near MacAvoy again. If those two met up again… Saul could _see _the gleam in MacAvoy's eyes: Rusty, walking back into MacAvoy's sphere of influence. The anger, alive inside Rusty… MacAvoy, so full of persuasion… Saul could see so many endings to that reunion and none of them were good.

Rusty was smart but he'd been smart when MacAvoy had met him. He'd still ended up being used and abused. Saul's imagination was dreading the thought that somehow Rusty was back in thrall to the man. _(He didn't want to admit to himself that he felt sure he'd find Rusty so much quicker if he was)._

Saul found the diner where he'd first met Rusty. Not admitting the nod to superstition, he sat at the same table and stared outside at the very spot where Rusty had stood, alone and trapped in a brutal hell.

He'd been back in this town a couple of times before. When Rusty had been going through those nightmares and he'd seen the sweat and the pain and the wretchedness and felt the urge to find MacAvoy and express his displeasure. He remembered hitting a few bars, asking for MacAvoy, waving money but no one was giving MacAvoy up. It had been impossible to hide his fury and his desperation and no one was in the mood to indulge him. Added to which, somewhere at the back of his mind, there'd been the thought that he ought to be back home with Annie and Rusty and that that was where he was needed.

Things had changed. He ate and drank and paid the bill. Right. This was going to be unpleasant and absolutely unavoidable. Wearing a sly look of lechery, Saul sauntered up to the counter.

"Can you tell me where I can find some male company for the evening?"

* * *

Another room in another motel and Rusty hoped he'd sleep better than he had done the previous night. Still, he reflected as he undressed, he'd been on his own before and this time was so much better than the last.

_Those first couple of days spent running away, looking over his shoulder as he did so until he was certain there was no one following him… Money running out so much faster than he'd imagined… Nights on the street… cold_ _and hungry and _lonely…

Not this time. This time, he was always going to have enough money because experience had given him skills. Not… Rusty bit his lip. Never. Never that _ever_ again. But he could lift wallets and deal cards and conmen existed all over America. Plus thanks to Sam, he knew his way around a car engine.

Rusty stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the basin. He could look after himself.

* * *

A/N: OK, it's late and I am allowing all mockery. There are fifty states, right? :D


	26. A Simple Plan Part Three

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: Rusty and Saul aren't my creations.

A/N: Have decided that my muse just waits for me to lay down markers on fic so she can laugh at me. This bit of story arc isn't finished yet.

Chapter Twenty-six: A Simple Plan Part Three

* * *

**Day Five**

Annie sat in the café in town opposite Lucy and studied her friend. Lucy was effervescent, happiness just bubbling up and out of her.

Lucy had come round the next morning after the meal out with Marty and Annie had pushed away the worry that was eating her up inside and welcomed Lucy into the kitchen and listened to how the evening had gone.

"_He's so kind…such a gentleman…and he's so funny!"_

She could have been describing Saul.

"_He's just so lovely! And he's all in control on the outside and then there's this softer side underneath…he could hurt really easily and hide it and you'd never know…"_

She could have been describing Rusty.

Annie had stood up abruptly and started making cakes and if Lucy had been a little startled, she hadn't said anything. She hadn't even asked where Rusty and Saul were and Annie had been grateful for the focused euphoria that meant all Lucy could think of was Marty.

All Annie could think of was Rusty, alone and on his own. There had been a phone call every night just as Saul had promised and words of love and hope and reassurance on both sides. She wanted desperately to be out there with him looking, scouring streets, searching and searching.

Night-time was the worst. Night-time, she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and imagined different horrors for Rusty. She prayed that there would be news soon.

Now, five days on, she was sat listening to an excited Lucy over coffee and cake. Marty was taking her to the cinema that evening and Lucy was chattering about which movie and what she should wear and a hundred different things. It was both maddening and marvellous: Annie smiled a smile that she really didn't feel and prepared herself to ask the sort of questions that a good friend would.

* * *

Lunchtime, Saul sat in the diner and waited as he had done the day before and the day before that. Just like he'd waited for three days of lessening hope over a year ago. He'd been wrong back then, he told himself. He'd been wrong and Rusty had appeared, all mistrustful and there in spite of himself. Oh, there had been the first few days of uncertainty - his heart still twisted when he thought about Rusty sitting naked on his bed, offering… - but all that hesitation had faded. There was joy and completeness and he'd never thought that he would ever have been happier than he was with Annie but there _had_ been happier for both of them. For all of them. And that made the absence of Rusty particularly hard to deal with.

Damn Millicent.

Damn Rusty for his ridiculous solution.

The door to the diner opened and Saul sat up in his seat. It was Grady and it looked like he had news.

_The man in the diner hadn't even batted an eyelid. The directions were delivered with a world-weariness that told Saul it wasn't the first time the question had been asked._

_The boys weren't difficult to find when you knew where to look. Saul looked at the teenagers…the _children_…pouting and preening as soon as they caught his gaze. Saul felt sick inside. There were some older men there too, definitely not customers and definitely not on offer. _

"_You buying?" one of them murmured._

"_No," Saul said firmly._

_The man's eyes narrowed. "You don't smell like a cop."_

"_I'm not. I want to find someone."  
_

"_Ah…" The man took a step back and smiled. "We ain't seen him."_

"_You haven't looked," Saul pointed out._

"_Is he here?" A nod to the line-up of the young and the vulnerable._

"_No." _

"_Then we ain't seen him," the man repeated. "Move along, old man."_

"_Please." He wasn't above begging and the picture of Rusty was in his hand. "Please just take a look at a photo."_

_The man pushed his hand away and Saul grabbed his wrist. From nowhere, reinforcements loomed behind the man and Saul reluctantly let him go. Getting beaten up was only going to delay his search._

"_I don't care if that's your son or your nephew or just some damn good lay that you're trying to find again." The menace in the man's voice had risen a notch. "You don't want to do business, then-" _

_The notes found their way into Saul's fingertips and the man stopped in mid-threat._

"_Who said I didn't want to do business?"_

_The man's name was Grady. He'd studied the photo of Rusty and nodded._

"_Blondie. He used to work these streets a while ago and I mean a long while ago. Haven't seen him around for a bit. Used to work for-"_

_Grady stopped himself sharply and looked expectantly at Saul, obviously wanting some money for the name._

"_MacAvoy," Saul supplied and saw disappointment flood Grady's face. "I know that part."_

_Grady gave him a shrewd look. "You ain't a cop and you don't look like a pimp either."_

_Distaste shuddered through Saul. _

"_So what's Blondie to ya?"_

_The world? _

"_Please. I need to find him. His mother's going out of her mind."_

_Grady looked thoughtful and greedy all at the same time. Saul could see the three jackpot symbols falling into place in Grady's head._

"_I can help you, old man. I can get places in this town that you can't."_

_And that was unfortunately true._

"_Tell you what. Let me do the looking for you. Tell me where I can find you and I'll do the digging."_

"_Alright," Saul agreed heavily. After all, it wouldn't stop him looking in the places he _could_ get to._

_He gave the name of the diner._

"_I'll be there at lunchtime for the next few days. You find anything out, you find me."_

_Grady gave a cough that wouldn't have been out of place coming from any bellhop or waiter and Saul produced some more notes. Grady's fingers closed round them: Saul held on to the money._

"_This is to get some quick answers. Don't forget that I know where you operate."_

That had been three nights ago. Saul had spent the time when he wasn't waiting for Grady trying to find out if any garages were up one mechanic – they weren't – and identifying the parts of town where rich pickings were to be had for a skilful pickpocket – there weren't many. It was that kind of town.

There were a few upmarket hotels in the nicer neighbourhoods. Saul had staked each of them out but there had been no sign of Rusty. His instincts were telling him that Rusty hadn't come back here. And he was both glad and sad about that.

But as Grady sat down opposite Saul in the diner, his eyes had a triumphant, mercenary gleam that made Saul's heart leap and sink all at the same time.

"I found someone who's seen him."

"Who? When? Is it MacAvoy-"

Grady held up a hand.

"It's not MacAvoy. MacAvoy's out of town."

Thank God. Saul felt the sudden release of fury and adrenaline that told him it was a good job that MacAvoy wasn't within reach. He wouldn't have been able to keep his temper and there was no way he was going to be able to help Rusty if he was up on assault and battery charges.

"It'll cost ya."

Saul nodded heavily. He'd been expecting this.

Grady licked his lips. "Three hundred bucks."

Saul let astonishment and shock cross his face along with unspoken protest that died away as it recognised the futility of expression. He nodded. Grady looked suitably smug and Saul smiled grimly inside. Like money was ever going to be an issue.

Notes handed over, Grady led him a little way across town and into a bar. The air was thick with a sweet smell of the illegal and the recreational and Saul did his best to breathe through his mouth.

"Here," Grady announced and Saul looked down at a man – a boy – twenty-one at most with eyes that reminded him of Rusty. Not the fire, not the intelligence, not the drive that was in Rusty. Not even the hell that Saul had glimpsed. This was a boy who wasn't arguing with the hands Fate had dealt him. But his eyes looked old. They'd known hardship and they'd known cold and they'd known hunger. And as Saul sat down in the booth, they were looking at Saul with that same wariness that Rusty had all those months ago.

"He's seen Blondie."

Moment of truth. Grady could still be playing him. Saul swallowed and produced the photo. The boy glanced at it and nodded.

"That's Rusty alrigh'," the boy said and Saul's breath caught in his throat.

"You know him?" he asked urgently.

The boy looked affronted. "Course I know him. Shared a room with him, didn' I?"

Saul nodded agreement hurriedly. Anything to defuse the aggression. Anything to find out information. It seemed to work. Mollified, the boy nodded a couple of times.

"S'right," he said apparently to himself. "I know Rusty."

He shot Saul a look. "What you want with him?"

"His mother's really anxious about him. I'm trying to find him for her."

The boy frowned. "Rusty's got no family. Why you lookin' for him? I don't want to be tellin' no stranger-"

Saul dug out more cash and held it tightly in his hand. Cash talked. And it spoke volumes to the boy.

"Rusty left town months ago." Marvin's eyes were glued to the money.

A glare from Grady said that this was old news. "Tell the man what you know, Marvin."

Marvin. Memory flickered in Saul.

Sulkily, Marvin obliged. "I saw him earlier in the year. Back here with money to burn. Bought me some food. We talked about old times."

Marvin. Rusty's voice was suddenly loud in Saul's head.

"_I went back. There was a boy called Marvin. I wanted to help him."_

Rusty had given Marvin money; Rusty had tried to help Marvin; Marvin hadn't wanted to be helped. And this was a story that Saul knew already.

"You seen him since?" Saul asked.

"No, man. No sign of him. Can I have my money now?"

Marvin looked hopeful and Grady wasn't reaching into his own pocket. Saul's eyebrows asked the question.

"Finder's fee," Grady shrugged. "You need to pay Marvin too."

He knew exactly where the money was going to end up and he really didn't want to hand it over. But there was still that quality in Marvin that reminded him of Rusty. Saul paid him.

* * *

**Day Six**

Rusty had picked his route carefully. There was no rush and he was very clear on his destination. Probably. To be honest, it had been a toss-up between a couple of cities but there was no reason he couldn't try one and then move on if things didn't work out. He reckoned it should take him just a few days, allowing for stops, allowing for a diversion or two, allowing for rest and careful driving. Rusty planned to keep himself to himself just like he always did. He'd be on the West Coast in no time.

No time didn't allow for some piece of metal falling off the truck in front of him. He'd swerved to avoid it but it had gone flying up under the car and there had been an ominous thunk.

Half an hour later, the car had slowed to a crawl and he'd been nursing it all the way to the garage in the next town where there'd been a lot of head-shaking and several pessimistic noises.

"That's your fuel line gone," said Mechanic No 1 eventually. "That's pretty serious."

Rusty bit back on the _"No shit_".

"We gotta order the part in," said Mechanic No 2 helpfully. "That's gonna take a while."

"How long?" Rusty asked with what he felt was a remarkable degree of patience.

"Ooooh…" Mechanic No 1 stood lost in thought for a good two minutes before shrugging.

"Coupla days," Mechanic No 2 suggested more with hope than belief.

* * *

**Day Eight**

All that had been a couple of days ago and the part still hadn't arrived and the car still wasn't fixed. The town – and maybe that was too grand a description - was dry and dusty. An old place with pockets of history that was indifferent to strangers. Incurious faces acknowledged Rusty's presence without even a nod. It all had an echo that Rusty did his best to ignore.

Rusty had taken up residence in the…hotel was _definitely _too grand a description. Six rooms and he was in one of them – small and badly painted, a bed with a thin mattress, a cracked washbasin and a bare lightbulb hanging. It was reminiscent of the room he'd shared with Marvin only _this _room was fifty bucks more and a week's payment in advance.

Four of the other rooms were empty. He'd checked them out on the first morning, just in case any of them were more prepossessing than his own – they weren't. The sixth room was opposite Rusty's and next to the communal bathroom. It overlooked the main street and it was occupied.

"Mr Smith," the man behind the bar said laconically when he asked. "He's been there a few days. Figure he's waiting for someone."

Yeah. That or a car part.

"Let's hope they turn up," Rusty smiled and walked away, not seeing the man's eyes sharpen as he went.

Curious and bored, Rusty kept a careful, casual watch on the room but he never saw anyone go in or go out of it. Sandwiches and beer were left outside and eventually, empty plates and empty bottles reappeared.

There was a brand new Ford parked out front of the hotel that was far too flash to belong to anyone in the town even if the Ohio plates hadn't given the fact away. Idly, Rusty looked up at the window from the street but the curtains were always drawn. Mr Smith was a man of mystery.

* * *

**Day Ten**

The promised part was coming the next day. Monday. For sure. Just like it had been definitely arriving Friday and the day before that. If it didn't come on Monday, Rusty was going to hitch a ride to wherever the part was and bring it back and fix it himself. Five days in this nothingness and he'd had enough.

The only brief moment of diversion happened when he got back to the hotel to find a new guest had arrived. A gum-chewing, loudly dressed and in fact, just loud girl had turned up and taken the room next to Rusty's.

Her name was Cassie Nicholas, she was in her early twenties and she was – as she explained to anyone who stood still long enough for her to tell - on a tour of self-discovery. Rusty had sympathy with the barman – pinned down and unable to escape - who seemed to be the main recipient of Cassie's confidences.

Apparently, self-discovery involved meditation at regular intervals. The "Om"s emanating through the walls indicated Cassie was deep in contemplation.

Rusty buried his head under the pillow.

* * *

**Day Eleven**

It was early hours and Rusty's first thought when he woke up was that the silence meant Cassie must finally have gone to bed. His second thought was to wonder what had woken him up and his third thought was to listen to his instincts and to find out.

He pulled on his jeans and barefoot, padded to the door of the room. He pressed his ear to the door and heard the distant hum of soft voices. Rusty cracked the door open and peered out.

The source of the voices was Mr Smith's room opposite and that door was ajar with an empty tray outside. Inside, someone was sitting down and Rusty could make out a pair of crossed jean-clad legs that ended in a cowboy boot with a silver spur. Rusty squinted. There was a cloud of cigar smoke and…and then the door shut firmly.

Huh. Mr Smith was obviously Clint Eastwood undercover.

Well, while he was up, he needed to take a leak. Rusty headed off to the bathroom.

He had to pass Mr Smith's room on the way back and he found the door ajar again. Without even thinking about it, Rusty's pace slowed. He ghosted along the threadbare carpet, curiosity piquing. The closer he got, the stronger the smell of the cigar, the louder the soft buzz of conversation.

"Patience. Tonight."

The voice was male and deep and full of authority. A voice that was used to being obeyed. The response came in a sing-song language that Rusty didn't recognise.

"Come and play cards. And shut the fucking door."

Another unintelligible reply.

"Do I look like I care? Shut the fucking _door_. Do I have to do everything myself?"

There was an edge to the man's voice. Something _dangerous… _Rusty was level with the door and he knew that the biggest mistake he could make now was to run. He needed to keep calm, to concentrate on being half-awake, shoulders sagging… Just another guest on his way back to his bedroom.

He felt without seeing the gaze in between his shoulder-blades. He shuffled on, not looking over his shoulder, all the way back to his room, finally letting out the breath he didn't realise he was holding.

* * *

Sleep had come. After he'd been certain no one was going to come through the door with the chair in front of it. After he'd forced the paint-stuck window open and judged the distance to the ground as jumpable. After he'd pulled the rest of his clothes on and grabbed the rest of his stuff into his bag ready.

Sleep had come in the form of a light doze and dawnlight woke him.

No one had come looking for him. Didn't mean no one would. Rusty leant up on his elbows and considered. There was paranoia and there was survival instinct. Was he being ridiculous?

"_Patience. Tonight."_

Something was going down. And Rusty wasn't going to hang around to find out. One way or another, today he was getting out of this place.

* * *

The garage opened at nine. Mechanic No 1 and Mechanic No 2 climbed out of their cars and came sauntering across the street, cans of soda and bags of chips in hand. Rusty was waiting for them.

"Mr Ryan!" Mechanic No 1 said happily.

Terrific. He'd been there long enough for them to remember his name.

"My car-" Rusty began.

"Today's the day, Mr Ryan," Mechanic No 2 assured him.

It had better be.

"Come back at five, Mr Ryan. We'll have good news for you."

They were already walking past him, dismissing him. Fuck that.

"Gentlemen!"

One word, chiselled through with anger and the pair stopped in their tracks, surprised. Rusty didn't know it but with the fury bristling from him, his eyes sharp and crystal-blue, he'd suddenly grown in stature. He wasn't a seventeen-year-old kid to be simply shrugged off.

"I want to be on my way. The fuel line had better be here today. I'm going to come back here at five and if it's not, I'm going to strip the fuel line out of both _your _cars-"

"You can't-"

"I _can." _Rusty was definite.

"But…but they won't fit your convertible…" Mechanic No 2 looked bewildered.

Rusty's smile was ice. "That's not the point."

"How will we get home?" Mechanic No 1 wondered.

"Congratulations," Rusty applauded him and then turned on his heel and walked away.

* * *

Throughout the day, Rusty steered well clear of the hotel. He didn't want to give Mr Smith or his friend any reason to think of him again. For the umpteenth time in the past few days, Rusty wandered round the church and the store and ended up in the diner, looking out of the grimy window and making the bad cooking last as long as he could. He only glanced at the payphone maybe seven times. Not that he was counting.

Cassie was out in the streets with her camera, taking shots of…Rusty really wasn't sure what. It was December and it was cold and bright and he knew _he_ would rather not be on the streets if there was a choice in the matter._ (And when there wasn't a choice…)_

Ten to five and Rusty headed back to the garage. It had been a generous enough deadline, all things considered, but he'd stick to the time he'd stated. He figured he could settle up, pick up his holdall from the hotel and be out of town before whatever Mr Smith had planned.

As he walked up to the garage, his pace slowed and then he strode forward, filled with disbelief.

Mechanic No 2 was pulling the doors to and fastening the padlock.

"What's going on?" Rusty asked tersely.

The man turned round with a nervous smile to greet Rusty.

"Your fuel line's here, Mr Ryan," he gabbled. "Went and fetched it myself. It's already to be fitted tomorrow."

No.

"It needs to be fitted _now_," Rusty told him with quiet emphasis.

There was an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Mr Ryan. Gordon went home sick as soon as I got back. I've been flat out. But the fuel line's here. It's on the side and I'm going to get straight to it tomorrow."

Rusty shook his head. He'd been waiting since Wednesday and he'd be damned if he was going to wait a minute-

"Mr Ryan, I gotta get home." Pleading. "It's my little boy's birthday."

Rusty stared at him hard and then let out a sigh. It was the truth. He jerked his head angrily and the man disappeared fast. Rusty stared at the doors, his car and the new fuel line locked away behind them. No way he was waiting another night in this town.

He would, however, have to wait a few more hours. Rusty screwed up his face in a grimace. He'd have to go back to the hotel.

* * *

Back in his room, Rusty lay on his bed and looked out at night falling. Ten o'clock and he guessed the streets would be clear.

As quietly as he could, he eased open the door. Cassie was busy chanting and Mr Smith's door was closed: that had to be a good sign. Rusty made it outside the hotel without challenge.

The window at the back of the garage wasn't overlooked and it was broken. Rusty nodded to himself. He had a way in. Now he just had to work in the dark.

* * *

**Day Twelve**

Not quite in the dark. He'd found a hurricane lamp and some matches and it was enough to work by.

Lost in his work - back at Sam's and happy, working with his hands - he hadn't heard a thing. Fuel line fitted, he emerged from under the car, wiping his hands on a rag, wondering about how he was going to get the padlock open and liberate his car. The flashlight in his face came out of nowhere.

"What the-?"

"Hands up where I can see them! Drop the rag!"

Female. Determined. Rusty blinked round the edge of the light but it was impossible to see the who. There was a clicking sound and Rusty had heard that before. His brain was simultaneously screaming at him and refusing to let him believe it.

"OK, mister. Hard way, it is."

Hard w-?

He was face down on the ground before he knew it, weight on his back, legs straddling him, his hands firmly cuffed behind his back. Not good, not good, not good. Seriously not good. He struggled to free himself and the muzzle of a gun was pressed firmly against his temple.

"You be a good boy, now."

At once, Rusty went limp. The weight shifted off him and he scrambled up and to his feet, back against the wall. The flashlight was back on his face, pinning him into place. Whoever it was, they were between him and the broken window. Trapped. Rusty could feel the dryness taking over his mouth.

"You gonna tell me your name and what you're doing in here?"

"You want to go first?" Said with a lot more bravado than he felt.

There was a long moment followed by a spot of mild swearing and then Rusty was bundled through a doorway. Light. An inner office. And looking back at him…

"Cassie?" he said stupidly.

Wearing a trouser suit. Wearing a red silk shirt. A million miles away from the Cassie he'd seen. Rusty blinked. For a moment, he almost forgot the handcuffs and the gun.

The gun.

The gun was still on him but the flashlight was put down carefully on the side. Credentials flashed.

"Thalia Howard. FBI. Your turn."

Rusty stared at her. "FBI?"

Thalia sighed. "You really don't do co-operation, do you?"

The gun got closer and Rusty didn't take his eyes off it. Thalia's hands patted him down briskly, professionally and then she found his wallet and flipped it open.

"Robert Charles Ryan," she read off his driving licence. "New Jersey. You are far away from home, Jersey boy."

Dark eyes stared into his, questioning, curious. Rusty said nothing.

"Alright." Thalia pulled a chair out and put it against the wall. "Sit down, Jersey."

Mutinously, he remained standing.

"Christ, you're stubborn. _Sit. _Please." Firm but polite.

Exhaling softly, Rusty obliged. Thalia perched on the desk.

"Right. So what are you doing here in this town?"

"Trying to leave." Said with feeling.

Thalia's lips twitched and then she leaned forward. "You here to meet someone?" Sharp. Sudden.

Rusty frowned. "No."

"Little rendezvous?"

"No-"

"Cash in hand?"

"_What_-"

"Pick up?"

"I don't-"

"You look at me, Jersey."

He _was_ looking and he wasn't even _trying_ to act bewildered. Thalia held his gaze for the longest time and then sat back, apparently satisfied.

"OK. So you telling me you're a sight-seer?"

Wasn't like he was arrested. Wasn't like he had to tell her. But there was no reason not to tell her and maybe if he explained, then she'd take these damn cuffs off.

"Fuel line went on my car a few days back. Got to the nearest town and I've been waiting for the replacement part to arrive ever since."

Thalia looked thoughtfully back towards the workshop. "And you couldn't wait for the nice men who work here to fit it."

"No."

"Just naturally impatient?"

Rusty was almost certain he'd hid the little flicker of truth but the way Thalia's mouth tightened minutely, maybe he was wrong.

"You on the run?" she asked casually.

Kind of. Sort of. Not the way she meant it.

That dark searching gaze was on him again and he still didn't like the handcuffs and the no escape but somehow he didn't feel afraid of her.

"I needed to get away from home," he found himself saying.

"Parent trouble?" Thalia asked, frowning. "They hurting you, Jersey? Because we can do something about that-"

"No, no," Rusty shook his head. God! The thought of Saul and Annie… "They're the most... _No_."

"OK, OK." Thalia was immediately apologetic. "Sorry. Didn't mean to upset you." She looked at him curiously. "If they're that great, then why…"

"It's not them. Well, it's because of them." Rusty sighed. "Look, it's complicated." Complicated and impossible to explain. He stared at her. "Please. I've answered your questions. Please, take these cuffs off."

Thalia looked like she might actually be considering it and then-

"_Howard, where are you?"_

Crackling static and Thalia pulled a walkie-talkie from the belt at her hip.

"In the garage, Peterson."

"_Suspect has left his room. He's dropped his holdall off at the left luggage room behind the main desk-"_

"Peter-"

"_- he's dropped an attaché case in his car-" _

""Peterson-"

"-_and has taken up residence in the hotel bar with a small bag-"_

"Peterson!"

"_What?" _Exasperated.

"I'm not alone."

There was a silence followed by profanity.

"_I'm coming over."_

"Use the entrance at the back of the garage," Thalia advised.

The radio went dead. Thalia looked at Rusty with a rueful expression.

"Guess you've just been fully briefed too."

"Guess. What about the cuffs?" Rusty asked urgently.

"Peterson's my boss. He's going to want to talk to you." Thalia holstered her gun. "You going to talk to me first, Jersey?"

"Thought I'd been doing that."

"Why are you in such a hurry to run out of town?" Thalia asked softly.

"Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Then I don't have to answer any questions. Right?"

Thalia smiled. "Just tell me, Jersey. Because instinct is telling me you're not connected with this but-"

"Howard?" A stocky man in his thirties arrived and glared at Rusty. "Who the hell is this?"

"Robert Ryan out of New Jersey."

"Blondie," Peterson said, nodding. "Heard about you."

_Heard…? _

"What'd you hear?"

"Heard you showed up a few days back. Hanging around and asking questions. You waiting for something, Blondie? You waiting for someone?"

"No." Firmly and not without a little anger because what the hell.

Peterson stood in front of Rusty and rested a hand on the back of the chair, leaning way, way into Rusty's personal space. Peterson's breath smelt of grease and there was a bit of gristle caught in between his bottom teeth, glistening with saliva. Rusty found himself focusing in on it, on grey meat and wetness.

"You gonna tell me what you're up to, punk?"

A man up close and personal in a way that really wasn't comfortable and Rusty's calm started to crack. The handcuffs were suddenly tighter and the chair was back against the wall and there wasn't any _room._ He could feel his heartrate increasing, his breath growing shorter and he bit his lip and drove his fingernails into his palms.

"You got something to hide…" Peterson nodded with satisfaction _(and his breath was as rank as the man with the body odour and the dirty nails that MacAvoy had introduced him to on the 4th of July….) _and he slapped Rusty's cheek lightly a couple of times. "Well, you'll keep."

He straightened up and turned to Thalia. "Keep him here. Wark's on duty and he's watching Mendes and keeping an eye on the luggage room. Martin's staking out the car. I'm going to go back and join him. When this is over, we'll take Blondie downtown."

"I don't think Ryan's involved-" Thalia protested.

Peterson interrupted with a snort. "Young snotrag like this? Trust me, Howard. If it's nothing to do with this, then there'll be something else. We'll throw him in the cells for a few days, pick him up and shake him a little and see what falls out."

_No. _Rusty couldn't help the little half-gasp. Peterson didn't notice. Thalia did. Rusty saw the frown on her face and it wasn't directed at him.

"I'll spend some quality one to one time with him." He slapped Rusty's cheek again. "I'll enjoy getting better acquainted."

Blind panic took over. Rusty launched himself forward out of the chair, shoulder-charging Peterson to get past him and out of the room, ignoring the exclamation from Thalia as she slipped down off the desk.

"Easy." Thalia was blocking the way.

And then a hand fell on his shoulder and he was spun around. Peterson's fist buried itself in his stomach, winding him and he pushed Rusty back down on the chair, his fingers wrapping into Rusty's hair and pulling tight. Rusty gritted his teeth and swallowed hard.

"Let me explain exactly what's going to happen." Peterson twisted his fingers and Rusty was suddenly battling with past echoes and present pain. "You are going to sit tight and wait for me, Blondie. And then we are going to have a private little chat."

Mercifully, Peterson released him and stepped back.

"I'll check in with you in an hour, Howard. I'll be seeing _you _later."

Peterson left, clicking his tongue. Just the _sound…_ It went with the wolfwhistles and the lip-smacking and the-

"Take it easy, Jersey," Thalia murmured, standing in front of him.

Rusty licked his lips. He wasn't going to beg. He wasn't. He wasn't-

"Are you OK?" Thalia asked him and her face was troubled.

_Calm. Breathe. Calm. _The anxiety started to die. He gave a quick nod.

"I'm sorry," Thalia said in a low voice. "I'm so sorry. Peterson can be a bastard at times."

"_Please." _Whispered and out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Thalia's hand touched his cheek briefly.

"OK. Here's the deal. I'll take the cuffs off but you are going to sit there in that chair and tell me what you're not telling me about why you're so intent on leaving town. If you so much as head for that door, then I will draw my gun and bury a bullet in your thigh and you'll be back in that chair with a tourniquet waiting for Peterson."

Rusty shivered.

"Deal, Jersey?"

"Deal," he said hoarsely.

Thalia removed the handcuffs and then sat back on the edge of the desk. Rusty rubbed his wrists and tried to ignore the ache in his upper arms.

"I'm waiting," Thalia prompted.

"There's a guy staying in the hotel," Rusty said at last. "Mr Smith. Keeps himself to himself. The other night I overheard him talking and he said something was going to kick off tonight. I think…I think he knows I heard him. I don't want trouble. I just wanted to get clear."

"This Mr Smith…"

"I don't know what he looks like," Rusty said hurriedly. "He wears jeans and cowboy boots and he smokes a cigar but I didn't see his face."

Thalia nodded slowly. "And what did Mr Smith say?"

_A voice in control and in charge. _

"Patience. Tonight," Rusty quoted.

Thalia looked thoughtful.

He stared at Thalia and stated the obvious. "Mr Smith is Mendes, isn't he?"

"Sounds like him," Thalia admitted eventually.

"So who's Mendes?"

"Nasty bit of work. Obviously, for us Feds to be looking for him."

There was a note in Thalia's voice that suggested Mendes was on a need to know basis.

"Why don't you just go and arrest him?"

Thalia said nothing. Rusty pursed his lips. _ Well, let's work this out._

"You know Mendes is coming here and there's only one hotel so you get a man in place, a guy on the inside, a man who can watch all comings and goings, this Wark…" Rusty thought about Cassie at the hotel talking to... "The bartender, right?"

Thalia opened her mouth and closed it again. Rusty hardly noticed.

"Mendes arrives and he holes up. Doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't leave the room, just sits there. All the time, your man is looking at anyone who so much as sneezes funny…"

He thought about the questions Thalia had shot at him, the accusations Peterson had thrown his way.

"Mendes is waiting to meet someone…but you're not sure who that is or why… That's why you're watching him. That's why you're staking out the car and the bar."

"Oh, you're _good_, Jersey."

Thalia let out a rich laugh and her expression was all about the impressed. She gave him a long considering look and then appeared to make her mind up.

"Mendes is very good at covering his tracks," she said. "We don't have enough to flat out arrest Mendes and make anything stick but we got a tip off that he had some business to conclude out here and we figured we'd-"

"-catch him in the act."

"Yeah."

"But…" Rusty frowned. "He's met them already."

"What?"

"I told you. I overheard him talking to someone in his room-"

"Someone was in his room?" Thalia frowned. "I thought you meant he was on the phone."

"Mendes asked him to shut the door and come back and play cards," Rusty told her. "He was there."

"Jersey, did you see this other man?" Thalia asked urgently.

"No, but I heard him." Rusty searched his mind for the voice of the other man. "I didn't recognise the language. Maybe Chinese? Japanese?"

Thalia stared at him and then the walkie-talkie was in her hand.

"Peterson, did you check out Mendes' room?"

"_Of course I did, Howard." _The scorn was ripe. _"You think I'm some kind of fucking rookie?"_

Thalia grimaced. "Was there any sign of another occupant?"

If anything, the sneer in Peterson's voice deepened. _"Like who? Elvis? The room was empty. Nothing and no one up there. Now be a good girl and get off the line."_

"Asshole," Thalia muttered. She spoke into the walkie-talkie again. "Peterson, Ryan says he overheard a conversation last night between Mendes and someone else. Someone who was in Mendes' room. Maybe a Chinese or a Japanese man-"

"_Howard, Howard, Howard. You letting that pretty face with those big blue eyes sell you a story? You do what I've asked you to do and babysit Blondie. Peterson out."_

Thalia stared at the walkie-talkie. "_Fucking_ asshole."

Rusty nodded. He agreed completely.

"Mendes left an attaché case in a car," Rusty said slowly. "He's sitting in the bar in full view with another bag…"

"Mendes is smart enough to throw us some smoke and mirrors," Thalia said. "It wouldn't be the first time. But leaving aside how the guy got in and out of the room in the first place, if he's met the man and handed over the merchandise, why's he still hanging around? He can't enjoy FBI-baiting _that_ much."

Little threads of thought were ravelling and unravelling in Rusty's head.

_He's dropped a holdall off…_

_Patience. Tonight…_

_Wark's on duty and he's watching Mendes and keeping an eye on the luggage room… _

"What is it?" Thalia asked.

Rusty looked at her. "The holdall."

"Wark's watching the entrance. There's only one door. I did surveillance shots of the whole hotel – the whole damn town! – believe me, there's only one door. Anyone who goes in there, we'll spot."

"That's the only way in to that room?" Rusty persisted.

Thalia considered the question.

"There's a tiny window," she said at last. "And I mean tiny. Two foot by two foot. No one's going to get in."

"What about someone getting out?"

"Who's going to fit through that space?"

"Someone who can fit into a holdall."

The words hung in the air between them and they stared at one another.

"The man is the merchandise," Thalia breathed, sliding off the desk.

"Mendes brought him in inside the holdall," Rusty said, as he got to his feet.

"Alright, Jersey." Thalia's tone was business-like. She pulled the walkie-talkie out. "Peterson, it's Howard."

"_For fuck sake's, Howard-" _

"The holdall, Peterson. We need to check the hold-"

"_Wark's on it." _Hissed and pissed.

"We need to watch the street at the side of the-"

"_Peterson!"_

A new voice.

"_Yeah, Martin, I see him."_

"Peter-"

"_Car's pulled up alongside the Ford."_

"_Guy's grabbed the attaché case."_

"_He's back in the car. We're in pursuit. This is it, boys and girls, Peterson out."_

Frustration filled Thalia's face as she snapped the walkie-talkie off.

"It's a distraction," Rusty said.

"Tell me something I don't know. I've got to move because by the time Peterson figures it out…"

Thalia tailed off and stared at him and Rusty read her thoughts in a flash. She couldn't take him with her and that meant-

"No. _NO!"_

He was ready to punch and run and the only thing stopping him was the fact that she hadn't got the cuffs out yet.

"No," she said quietly. "Not least because if this does all go south then I don't trust Peterson not to come back and grab you and try and make something stick." She stood to one side. "You're free to go, Jersey boy."

* * *

He wanted to get out of there as soon as he could. Put a quick hundred miles between himself and anywhere Peterson might come looking.

There were a couple of nearly full fuel cans on the side and Rusty grabbed them and steadily emptied them one after the other into the tank of his car. As he poured, the thought of the handcuffs drifted through him. The feel of the steel around his wrists was still there. The smell of the man's breath and the ache in his hair where the man's fingers had been...they were still there.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the car. _ The man. In control and calling the shots and he'd been helpless…the man telling him exactly what was going to happen…_

Petrol dripped over his fingers and he was startled back to the here and now. Rusty put the fuel can on the floor and took a deep breath. Peterson wasn't even close to his worst nightmare. He needed to focus.

* * *

Thalia crouched in the shadows opposite the tiny window, gun drawn, waiting.

Peterson was off chasing wild geese but she believed Jersey boy. Her mouth tightened as she thought of Peterson standing over the kid and frightening the life out of him. The man was a bastard. Jersey's face… Some kind of private hell going on there and Peterson didn't even glimpse it.

Jersey. She liked him. Young and smart and good-looking and she wished they'd met over a bottle of wine and soft lights and, given the age on his driving licence, about five years later... Thalia shook herself.

A car drawled down the street, its lights out and Thalia stopped thinking about bastards who happened to be in charge of things and blond kids with blue eyes and a back story.

* * *

There was a pair of bolt-cutters on the side and Rusty suddenly had a way through the padlock and chain on the doors. He climbed out the back and made his way round to the front of the garage.

As he worked on the chain, Thalia flashed through his mind. She'd been the one responsible for the cuffs but it could have been so much worse if Thalia hadn't been there. He liked her. Professional and intelligent and…sexy…

"_You going to be OK?"_

"_I've got Wark. Don't worry, he's nothing like Peterson."_

"_Thalia…" _

"_Need to _move_, Jersey" _

Professional and intelligent and sexy…and a Fed. Mmm. Problem right there.

He pulled the padlock and chain free and tossed them to one side. The bolt-cutters followed suit. Then he dragged the doors open and fished in his pocket for his car keys.

Rusty's fingers were half-way to turning the ignition when he thought twice. Somewhere out there was Mendes and a group of Feds and he didn't want to get caught up in the crossfire. He took the parking brake off and put his shoulder against the doorframe, pushing and steadily steering his car out on to the street.

A car without lights ghosted round the corner and Rusty watched it pass by, every instinct screaming at him to keep very, very quiet and still. To remain invisible. And that was probably the right decision.

* * *

The car came to a halt her side of the street and turned its lights on once, twice. She watched the window and it _moved._ Someone was squeezing their way out of the impossible space. Well, damn. She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it for herself.

"Score one for you, Jersey," she murmured then grabbed her walkie-talkie.

"Wark, this is Howard," she hissed. "I'm at the side of the hotel. There's a suspect emerging through the back window and there's a car with at least one further suspect in it. I need back up _now!" _

No answer.

"Wark? Wark!"

Nothing. Thalia sighed. She was sure there was a smart move to be made and she wasn't certain she was about to make it.

"Oh, hell," she muttered. She gripped her gun and her badge and prepared to launch herself forward.

Cold steel came out of nowhere and pressed itself against her temple as incomprehensible words were softly muttered into her ear. The language she didn't understand but the intent was clear. Fuck... They'd covered all angles too. Thalia slowly raised her hands and the gun and the badge were gently taken off her. Then not-so-gentle blackness descended.

* * *

Head throbbing, she came to and she was somewhere dark and metal and moving. Somewhere with stale air and the smell of rubber and petrol. She winced as she slammed into the side of the… Trunk. They'd thrown her in the trunk of the car and driven off. Well, shit.

Her hands were free and she quickly checked. No gun, no badge, no cuffs, no flashlight, no walkie-talkie, no surprises. Actually, only one. That they were taking her along for the ride.

Her fingers closed around a wrench. Maybe she was going to be the one with the surprises.

* * *

She'd come out fighting. The trunk had opened and there was bright neon light and she'd swung at the dark shape looming over her. Judging by the sharp cry of pain, she'd connected too. But there were more of them and she hadn't even made it two foot away before she was face down and eating dust. A hand was in her hair and she heard the gun click behind her head and life/love/regrets ran through her.

There was a shout. An order barked. Life hung.

* * *

It was stuffy. And it was almost certainly daytime by now but the rough cloth they'd used to blindfold her made it impossible to be sure. Her hands were tied behind her back, her feet were bound at the ankles and there was more rough cloth gently choking her.

Thalia rested her aching head against the cool wall. Damn Peterson for not listening to her. She was holding him fully responsible for every single bit of pain and inconvenience.

They hadn't fed her. They hadn't given her water. They'd stood over her and shouted a lot at each other and then they'd gone away again. She supposed she should be grateful they hadn't hurt her any more.

She thought she had her bearings. The room was small, maybe less a room and more of a cupboard. There was one door and there were wooden shutters behind her. If she pressed her ear to the door, she could hear voices, none of them intelligible. After a while, the voices went away. She'd tried drumming her heels against the door and no one had come.

She was on her own.

* * *

A/N: Long chapter. And I'd really like to hear what you think, please. :)


	27. A Simple Plan Part Four

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: *checks* Nope. Still not mine.

Chapter Twenty-seven: A Simple Plan Part Four

* * *

A sound. She'd been dreaming it was snowing but Thalia shook herself free of sleep and concentrated because maybe she'd been mistaken. She hadn't. There was a sound from within the room. A soft, quiet kind of sound that didn't want to draw attention to itself.

She swallowed and sat upright, waiting. She'd counted four voices earlier. Four people with an opinion on what to do with her and she guessed that all that was keeping her alive was that they didn't know how much the authorities knew. How close they were. Whether or not they needed a hostage. Was this one of them taking matters into his own hands?

Soft footsteps padded towards her and Thalia had never felt more helpless. She tensed, waiting for a fist or a knife or a boot and she did her best to make herself as small a target as possible, drawing up her knees and burying her face in them. No way she was going to make it easy for them.

* * *

_Earlier…_

_The sensible thing would be to get in his car and to leave. His holdall was in the trunk of the car, he'd left money on the side (to cover the part _not _the labour). The smart thing would be to get out of this town and to keep driving and not stop till he was far, far away from men with bad breath and authority._

Right.

_Thalia had said that she had cover. Wark. Who was nothing like Peterson. And Thalia herself was more than capable. Any bad guy running into her was going to be sorry._

Mmm.

_And a car - a Japanese car at that - travelling at night without lights…well, that could be anything…any reason…_

Rusty told the voice in his head to shut the fuck up. He moved through the shadows, following the path of the car and peered round the corner into the barely-lit sidestreet in time for time to slow to a standstill.

Someone on their knees, their hands in the air.

A man with a gun.

Thalia. Oh, God, _Thalia! _

And then the gun came down heavy and she wasbeing bundled into the trunk of a car –_ the_ car – and from inside the car there was a bark in a language Rusty couldn't understand but understood immediately. _"Hurry up_".

_Fuck._

Wark. He needed to find Wark right now. This was more than he could handle on his own. His feet were leading him back round the corner of the hotel towards the bar. It was simple. He just needed to walk through the door and get hold of the bartender aka Wark and tell him Thalia had been kidnapped. Simple. And Wark could get the truth out of Mendes and find out who the hell had been inside the holdall and tell Peterson… Rusty stopped, his hand halfway towards the door.

Peterson.

Shit.

He was already running back to his car. Peterson had left him handcuffed in Thalia's custody. Peterson wasn't going to listen to his version of what had happened. As he ran, he thought about bad breath and invasion of personal space.

"_You are going to sit tight and wait for me, Blondie. And then we are going to have a private little chat." _

And while that was happening, Thalia would be long gone.

* * *

He threw himself into his waiting car and turned the engine over, listening with relief and satisfaction as it purred happily into life. Rusty headed for the main road in pursuit of the woman who knew the truth.

A fifty-fifty guess at the intersection and he was lucky. Pedal to the metal, he caught sight of the Honda and immediately dropped back. He had never tailed a car before but the principles had to be the same as if he was on foot: unobtrusive and plenty of slack on the lead.

The Honda was travelling but it wasn't flat out. If it suddenly took off, Rusty couldn't be sure he could keep up. Ideally, he would have let a couple of cars overtake and mask him but it was approaching dawn and traffic wasn't heavy.

It meant that he had to give the mark more room than he really wanted to.

It meant that he had to hang back around the curves in the road.

It meant that it took him a good five miles before he realised he'd lost them.

* * *

Peterson's mood hadn't gotten any better.

They'd chased down and pulled over the car and found nothing more than a sullen teenager and no contraband. Boosting an empty attaché case was hardly an FBI matter.

Back at the garage, Peterson scowled at the empty office. There was a reason why he preferred to work with an all-male team. Howard had let a pair of big blue eyes sway her and now their best lead had upped and driven away. He glared at the space where the convertible had stood.

"Howard? Howard?"

The walkie-talkie crackled static. Damn it.

"Howard, you get your ass back here now!"

More static. If Howard was off on a little unscheduled R and R, he'd have her in a disciplinary before she had chance to pull her underwear up.

Storming into the bar, he arrested Mendes more in hope than belief and dragged him into the office at the hotel, ignoring Wark's attempts to speak to him alone.

"You want to tell me what you're up to, Mendes?" Peterson barked, standing over him like he had the blond punk kid.

Unfortunately, Mendes wasn't to be intimidated. All Peterson got in return was a big, wide smile. Peterson poked at the bag that Mendes had had with him. Nothing in there. Nothing to hold him on. A big fat nothing.

Well, not quite. There was still that ridiculous information Howard had come up with. Worth a shot. Peterson put on his best poker face.

"Shall we start with who was in your room last night?"

Mendes's expression tightened infinitesimally.

"What about the holdall?" Peterson went on. "Shall we talk about its contents?"

The smile faded slightly.

"What about your little pal?"

Mendes licked his lips and Peterson could smell the uncertainty and the fear.

"You run around with good-looking blond boys often?" he asked and he looked directly in Mendes's eyes.

Incomprehension flashed back at him and Peterson's gaze narrowed. Like he was going to be misled that easily.

"Take him in," he told Martin. "We'll start sweating him."

He beckoned Wark to one side.

"We heard from Howard?" he asked in an undertone.

"No, sir. Sir-"

"Damn the woman!"

"Sir, she asked for me," Wark interrupted. "She wanted back up. She was in the street at the back of the hotel and she said someone was climbing out of the back window. She asked for me."

Peterson frowned. "Well, why didn't you go?"

"I did. As soon as I could. I was pouring Mendes a beer and…look, I got there as soon as I could. She wasn't there but there was a convertible driving away. I couldn't get the plate."

Blondie. Peterson's mouth set.

"And now I can't reach her at all."

Peterson grunted. "Well, don't let's rush to report her missing yet. Howard's a big girl. Besides, I got somewhere we can start looking. Get an APB out on one Robert Ryan."

"The kid?" Wark frowned.

"Yeah. Left him in Howard's tender care. I come back and they're both gone."

"But, Peterson, she didn't implicate him," Wark argued. "And didn't Ryan give her the info to go on in the first place?"

Peterson scowled. "Inside scoop. Probably thought that squealing would mean I went easy on him. Trust me. Ryan's mixed up in this."

* * *

Doubling back, Rusty found the turning off and followed it, searching desperately for a glimpse of the Honda. Still no traffic about despite the glow of sunrise.

Peripherally, he glanced at his surroundings as he drove. This was a secondary road, leading away from cities and civilisation. It didn't seem a likely route for a getaway but then the town he'd just left didn't seem a likely place for a rendezvous. If it was him he'd want to hide in plain sight. Then again, abducting Thalia hadn't been part of the plan. Maybe this was a diversion too.

Thoughts of Thalia - hit and hurt and trapped – flooded guiltily through him.

This was his fault.

He should have shouted or run across the street or done _something _rather than just freeze and watch her being snatched away.

This was his fault.

If he hadn't put the little details together then Thalia wouldn't have disappeared to take on the bad guys on her own. He should have gone with her. She shouldn't have been alone.

This was his fault.

* * *

"Robert Ryan? Of New Jersey?" The voice at the other end of the phone sounded sceptical. "Got to think there's more than one, Peterson."

With difficulty, Peterson bit back on the instinctive snappy little retort. He needed this guy's help.

"Late teens. Blond, blue-eyed. Pretty." Peterson invested the last word with sneer.

"Right." The voice didn't sound any more convinced. "Well, I'll take a look later-"

"Now, Murphy!" Peterson growled before he could help himself. He took a breath. Diplomacy didn't come easily to him. "Please," he added. "This is my only lead in the Mendes case."

There was a silence. Mendes's name carried weight.

"Alright," came the answer. "I'm on it."

* * *

The neon lights advertised "Rosie's Din and Mote": it wasn't till Rusty got up close that he could see the unlit letters making it a diner and motel that belonged to Rosie. There were a few cars parked in the lot and he breathed a sigh of relief as he recognised the Honda in front of the motel steps.

He pulled in a couple of spaces down from the car and made himself walk calmly and casually until he was level with the trunk. Then he dropped to one knee, ostensibly tying a non-existent shoelace and knocked gently on the side of the car.

"Thalia? Thalia, can you hear me?"

No answer. And she _could_ still be unconscious or… Rusty's gaze fell on a small red button lying on the ground that might once have been attached to a red silk shirt and his gaze travelled on to the nearby steps to the motel. It would be too risky to leave her in the car. He got to his feet and carried on walking towards the reception and the diner.

There was no one behind the reception desk but there was a backroom door ajar and a tv droning. Rusty's eyes ran along the key rack. Eight rooms, five keys hanging which meant three more rooms let than the general décor and cleanliness would have suggested. Room numbers two, seven and eight. One in three shot then. But what did he do next?

There was the sound of a chair being pushed back and Rusty hurried through to the diner where a scrawny-looking kid with a huge Adam's apple was slumped behind the counter, reading the funny pages. He wore a once-white jacket by way of uniform and his name badge proclaimed him to be Mike. He snapped to attention when he saw Rusty.

"Can I help you?" Mike warbled in a voice that hadn't quite broken.

Rusty ordered a strawberry milkshake and sat down at a table, sipping it. Lukewarm. Vile. Rusty only half-noticed. Mike disappeared into the kitchen and it only just registered with him. His mind was focused on the problem in hand: as much as he hated to admit it, he was out of his depth.

Thalia was being held by men with guns and he needed more than quick hands and charm to get her out. He needed someone to come up with a plan to free Thalia and then he would do his best to make that plan come to life. But on his own…

Rusty saw the payphone in the corner. Maybe he didn't have to do this on his own after all.

* * *

"Peterson? It's Murphy."

Sooner than he'd thought. That could be good news or bad news.

"Quite a few Robert Ryans, quite a few that matched your description. More or less. None with a record."

Bad news.

"But I cross-referenced with the vehicles and there's only one Robert Ryan with an FBI tag on his car. Seems someone's got an eye on him."

Good news. Peterson grinned. "Give me the details."

* * *

With some difficulty and not a few nervous glances in the direction of the now deserted counter, he managed to get the phone number of the local FBI office.

"Which department do you require?" demanded the voice at the other end of the phone.

Rusty had no idea. "Field Operations?" he said tentatively.

Apparently it existed. There were a couple of clicks and then a crisp, professional voice came on the line.

"Agent Morrison. How can I help?"

"One of your agents is missing. Thalia Howard." Rusty spoke clearly and precisely. "I believe she is being held at Rosie's Motel and Diner-"

He started to describe the road and the turn-off but the man interrupted.

"Wait a minute, who is this?"

Rusty hesitated. No names. It was a good rule whatever the situation.

"That's not important. What you need to know is-"

"I don't take anonymous tip offs, kid. "

Rusty gritted his teeth. "I'm not telling you my name."

"Then I'm not listening."

"But-"

"You think the FBI is going to start jumping every time someone phones them up?"

"Thalia-"

"If I had a dime for every conspiracy theory nut and fantasist who calls in-"

"Please! Thalia's in danger!"

Sincerity and he knew he was begging but he couldn't help himself.

There was a pause and then a gruff "Hold on a moment, kid."

Silence and then there were a couple of clicks and a moment later, the man was back on line.

"Agent Thalia Howard isn't missing."

Rusty blinked. Surely Thalia's absence had been noted by _now_.

"Go waste someone else's time." Curt. Final.

The line went dead. Rusty rested his forehead against the cold wall of the diner and closed his eyes. Well, there was one other person he could call.

* * *

The phone rang and rang and the longer it did so, the less sure Rusty was that this was a good idea. He'd done the leaving, after all. They didn't have to help him. Maybe after all the shelter and trust and… He couldn't say the final word, not even in his head. Maybe after all that they felt they'd done enough.

There was another reason. He'd made the decision to move out of Saul and Annie's life but even though he thought it was the right thing to do, it didn't mean it was the easy thing. Annie's smile that lit up her face. Saul's smile that was deep in his eyes. Wasn't like his life had been overcrowded with people who'd been pleased to see him. MacAvoy's venal grin floated into his head and he shuddered.

"Hello?" Annie's voice broke into his thoughts and it hurt in a way he'd never imagined it would to hear her again.

Rusty swallowed.

"Hello? Who is it?" Puzzled.

Thalia. He had to try.

"Annie, it's me. Please may I speak to Saul if he's-"

There was an incoherent noise from the other end of the phone and then the door to the diner swung open and Rusty's attention switched to the Asian man who'd walked in. Had to be one of the men and he couldn't risk the conversation being overheard. He turned his body, shielding the phone from view.

"Sorry, Annie, gotta run," he breathed and his fingers killed the call though he kept the phone pressed to his ear. Time to talk to himself.

* * *

"Rusty! Rusty!" Annie shouted desperately.

No answer. Nothing but the mechanical noise of disconnection.

"Rusty," she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Rusty."

Nothing. She hung up and sank to the floor and sobbed.

* * *

The man banged on the counter till Mike appeared and then ordered in perfect English with a New York twang.

"Four burgers, four cokes for Room 2." He brandished money and Mike immediately became helpful.

"You go on back, sir. I'll get these brought up to you."

The man paused for a moment and Rusty risked a glance at him. He could imagine why he was hesitating. Room service wasn't the best idea when you were holding a Federal Agent hostage. But the man surprised him and gave a curt nod.

As soon as he'd gone, Rusty put the receiver down and went outside. He didn't have too long to wait. Mike appeared with a tray of food and drink. Rusty stepped into his path.

"How'd you like to make an easy fifty bucks?"

* * *

Room 2 was on the ground floor. Wearing the boy's dirty white jacket, Rusty bowed his head and shuffled his way up to the door and knocked. It opened and he raised his gaze to take in the man who stood there and the room itself.

Two other men, one sitting, one standing. No sign of Thalia. Two beds and a sink and two doors – one of them opened and there was a flushing sound as a fourth man emerged. A small, neat man, impeccably dressed. Small enough to bend himself into a holdall.

Rusty's gaze drifted to the other door. Some sort of closet? Storeroom?

"Hey!"

The man was holding out impatient hands for the tray. Rusty kept the vacant look on his face and there was a barked instruction from the man who'd been with Mendes.

A dollar bill was thrust in his face and Rusty handed over the tray and took the tip then slouched away. He'd found out Thalia's probable whereabouts: now he just had to figure out what he did with that information.

* * *

Annie replayed the conversation over and over in her head, trying to think about clues that she could tell Saul when he rang in later. There hadn't been any background noise that she could remember. And Rusty had sounded OK but he'd wanted Saul. He'd wanted to talk to Saul and ask advice and Saul hadn't been there and she hated the thought that he'd rung for help and hadn't received it.

Saul was in Denver. Whispers on the grapevine from a contact of Scott's and he'd left Reno and headed to Colorado. A story about a young blond pickpocket who was new on the streets. It was weak, Annie knew. A friend of a friend and neither of them knew Rusty. Saul knew it was weak too but he wasn't telling her that and Annie loved him for the hope that he was keeping alive for both of them.

She looked at the calendar in the kitchen: mid-December and it was nearly two weeks and the pain was as vivid as it had been the day Rusty'd left. Somehow, she doubted it would ever fade.

* * *

"Thalia's been gone too long." Martin said and Wark nodded.

"Yeah. And Peterson's doing fuck all about it," Wark said savagely. His failure to help Thalia was eating at him.

"Well, Peterson got this lead to follow up," Martin ventured.

Wark snorted his contempt for Peterson's fixation with Ryan. "I'd hate to be depending on Peterson."

"Then what are we going to do?"

Wark looked at the younger man who seemed as troubled as he was by their colleague's disappearance.

"Go over his head?" he suggested.

Martin didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

* * *

Rusty stood at the back of the motel, thick bushes and scrub between him and the shuttered windows. Surprisingly thick and wooden and no doubt bolted from the inside. He could hack his way in with an axe but he'd never do it silently. The temptation to bang on the shutters and shout Thalia's name was overwhelming.

Not a smart move.

* * *

Room 6 was directly above Room 2. It was easy enough to lift the key and let himself in. He pulled off his shoes and stole silently across the carpet. It was the same layout as the room below: two beds, a bathroom and a storage closet.

Rusty pulled up the carpet in the closet and inspected the floorboards. Maybe. Maybe, this would work. It would be all about timing but he could do this.

He ghosted over to the sink and picked up a chipped toothglass then gently rolled back the carpet beside the bed and pressed the glass to the floor. Voices drifted up to him. Voices arguing and he could guess what about. They'd brought Thalia along for the trip but it didn't mean they knew what to do with her.

Rusty's holdall was in his trunk and so were the tools that Sam had insisted he carry for emergencies. Sam probably hadn't considered this scenario but Rusty was certain it qualified.

He unzipped his holdall and pushed the crowbar inside. Tow rope too, he decided. His fingers ran over the sheath with the hunting knife.

"_You need a blade," Sam had said. "Tow ropes get knotted real tight."_

A knife was never going to do much damage up against a gun. Still. Better a weapon than none. Rusty put the knife in the bag too and went back inside the motel. Still no sign of anyone on the desk. Back up in Room 6, he dropped the holdall carefully on the bed, took out the crowbar and then set about the impossible task of noiselessly lifting up selected floorboards in the closet and the bedroom itself.

* * *

The knock on the door sent Annie running through the hall. Perhaps Rusty had come back to ask Saul in person. All she'd have to do is hold on to him, make him sit and listen, maybe all she'd have to do is hold on to him tightly and not let him go.

Lucy stood on the doorstep and Annie's face fell. She recovered but the bright smile of welcome faded as she saw Millicent at Lucy's shoulder.

"Annie, dear, I bumped into Lucy in town and she told me she was on her way to see you. I knew you wouldn't mind me tagging along."

Lucy's mouth was tight and Annie could see the vague hope that Annie would deny Millicent entry. Annie gave a weak smile. No chance of that.

"Come on in, both of you. I'll put the kettle on."

When Annie arrived in the lounge with the tea tray, Lucy was sitting in Saul's chair, gripping the arms of it, her knuckles white. Annie shot an involuntary glance at Millicent, comfortable on the couch and wondered what exactly Millicent had been saying. Nothing nice, that was for sure. She placed the tray on the table and sat on the couch between the two women.

"Afternoon tea with friends, how delightful," Millicent beamed. "Do you want to be mother, Annie?"

Annie's fingers clenched round the handle of the teapot and she forced herself to concentrate on pouring the tea. After all the years she'd known Millicent, she didn't need to look up to see the expression on Millicent's face: Annie could picture the simultaneously innocent and knowing look.

"Milk, no sugar, right, Lucy?" she said, her voice even.

"Yes. Thanks."

She handed Lucy the cup and flashed her a smile that apologised and promised another Millicentless occasion. Lucy gave the tiniest of smiles back. Millicent saw.

"I don't think you need ask me how I take my tea, Annie," she said and there was that little tinkling laugh to accompany the words. "All the teas and coffees you've made for me over the years."

Another little dig. Wordlessly, Annie handed her the cup.

"So, how have you been?" Millicent asked, stirring her tea. "What's your news?"

"Same old, same old," Annie said, conjuring up a breezy air. She handed the plate of cookies to Lucy who took one and to Millicent who refused.

"They look _delicious,_ Annie, but I won't indulge. It's a frivolous thing but I still care about what men think of the way I look."

Millicent was hardly fat. Lucy's hand was halfway to her mouth: at Millicent's words, her arm dropped and she put the cookie on the saucer beside her cup. Annie gritted her teeth and poured her own cup.

"How are Saul and Robert?" Millicent asked. "Getting ready for Christmas?"

This time Annie did look at her. Pearly teeth showing in that neat little smile of vicious.

"Robert…oh, _Rusty_." Lucy's brow cleared.

"They're fine," Annie replied and prayed that it was true.

"I bumped into Sam." Millicent said a propos of nothing, sipping her tea. "He tells me Robert hasn't been at the garage for a while."

There was a question in there and Annie fought the urge to answer it. Millicent didn't have to know everything just because she asked. Unfortunately…

"Where is Rusty?" Lucy frowned. "I haven't seen him since Thanks-"

She stopped abruptly, staring at Millicent and Annie knew she was remembering the unexpected arrival.

"Since Thanksgiving," Millicent completed. "No, neither have I. Where is he, Annie?"

Quick little eyes, eager to seize upon discomfort and pain. And there was a lot of discomfort and pain to be pounced upon. Annie steeled herself to keep the hurt out of her face.

"He's out of town at the moment," she said, her voice level.

"Ahh…" Millicent exhaled softly, putting meaning into the exclamation. "Well, that's possibly for the best."

Annie looked at her sharply and she knew Lucy was frowning in Millicent's direction too.

"What do you mean?" Lucy asked.

"A little distance," Millicent said cryptically. "Very wise, Annie."

There was something in there, some way of hurting that Millicent was dying to reveal and that Annie just didn't get and she wasn't sure she wanted to but she couldn't stop the question.

"What-?"

The knock at the door startled them all.

_Rusty._ Annie was off and running. She flung open the door and was confronted by an overweight middle-aged man who smiled at her.

"Afternoon, ma'am. Robert Ryan live here?"

Halitosis washed over Annie and she took an automatic step backwards. The man took an immediate step forwards over the lintel and into her hall.

"Who are you?" Annie demanded.

A badge flashed in her face.

"Agent Frederick Peterson, ma'am. FBI." He held up a copy of Rusty's driving licence ID and repeated the question. "Robert Ryan live here?"

FBI! Shock suffused her. She turned her head sharply and saw Lucy and Millicent in the lounge doorway, concerned and bright-eyed respectively.

"Yes, he does. Please come into the study, Agent Peterson," Annie invited with a calmness she didn't feel.

* * *

"FBI?" Lucy said incredulously as Annie led Agent Peterson away.

Millicent made an excited little noise and Lucy glared at her. It seemed just the sort of gossip that Millicent would love. Getting a thrill from Annie's distress.

"What do they want with Rusty?" Lucy wondered aloud.

Millicent's expression changed. Her face grew more shrewd and then acquired a hesitant look. Lucy frowned.

"What is it?" she asked.

* * *

"What's happened to Rus…to Robert?" Annie asked the second they were on their own. "Is he OK? Is he hurt?"

Peterson didn't answer. Instead, he stood and stared around the study, looking at everything. The silence grew and the tension inside Annie with it.

"Agent Peterson, please, what's happened?"

Finally, Peterson looked at her.

"Mrs…?"

"Bloom. Annie Bloom."

"You Robert's mother?"

Yes. No. Annie bit her lip and settled for "He's related to my husband". A lie but one she'd told often enough to be comfortable with.

Peterson nodded slowly and Annie wanted to shake him.

"Please," she said again and her voice was trembling but she couldn't help it. "Please."

Peterson sat down in Saul's leather chair and swivelled round to face her. "Your husband home?"

"He's away at present."

"And Robert?"

"He's away too."

"I see."

Annie's fingers curled into fists. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

Peterson sucked his teeth. "You seem like a nice lady, Mrs Bloom, so I'll level with you. One of our agents has gone missing. I have reason to believe that Robert knows where she is."

Annie stared at him. "What? _Why?"_

"Because the last time I saw the missing agent, Robert was in her custody."

Annie paled. "Arrested?" she whispered.

Peterson gave a non-committal shrug. "Helping with enquiries."

"Where was this?" Annie asked.

There was another shrug. "That's on a need to know basis."

But she needed to know!

Peterson leaned forward. "Tell me, Mrs Bloom, when was the last time you spoke to Robert?"

This morning didn't count. Wasn't like they'd actually conversed.

"It's been a while since we really talked," she said truthfully.

"Mmm," Peterson said and it meant something or nothing and Annie couldn't tell which. "I'm going to need to see his room."

Rusty's room. Annie bridled at the invasion.

"Don't you need a search warrant?" Surely that wasn't just in the movies.

Peterson smiled unpleasantly. "Why? What have you got to hide, Mrs Bloom?"

Nothing. She had nothing _(everything) _to hide.

* * *

Sweat covered him. Rusty could feel it running down his back and he kept wiping his hands on his jeans. He felt his fingers cramping and he laid the crowbar on his knees and flexed his fingers.

It had taken him forever, working slowly and silently but he'd managed to jemmy up a couple of floorboards beside the bed and one in the closet itself. The good news was that the joists separating the floors were shallow and not too close together. Whoever had built the motel had done so at minimum specification. The ceiling below was in poor repair: it hadn't taken much to lay flat and use the tip of the knife and carefully widen a couple of existing holes so that he had vision of both rooms beneath him.

Thalia, bound and gagged and blindfolded. Rusty stared at her, slumped up against one of the walls and held his breath. There was blood on the side of her face and then she shuffled into a more comfortable position and she was _alive_. Rusty felt the relief drench him. He wanted desperately to call out to her but he couldn't take the chance.

And in the other room, the four men holding her who veered from complete calm and self-control to violent outbursts at each other. At one point, Rusty wondered if he could just sit back and wait for them to finish each other off. There was one voice that was obviously in charge and he recognised it as the man that had been in Mendes's room.

It had taken him a few moments, but he had deciphered peripheral flickering light in the main room: the TV was on without the sound. Rusty frowned. They were watching what, exactly?_ "Love Boat"? "Jeopardy"?_ Didn't seem like they were the sort of men to go in for soaps and quiz shows.

News channel. The realisation hit him. They were watching the news channel for any report there might be, any breaking story about an FBI agent being taken hostage.

Unlikely. Thalia hadn't even been reported missing. And if Peterson ever did get round to worrying about Thalia, they wouldn't know where to start looking. Hell, with both of them missing, Peterson would probably come after _him_. Getting Thalia back was necessary if only so she could call off the search.

Peterson. Rusty screwed up his eyes at the memory of the man looming over him as he sat in handcuffs, powerless and hating everything that meant and _losing_ it. His mouth tightened. Damn it! He'd spent over a year holding on to the emotion and he'd never once given into it, not even with far more provocation than Peterson had offered.

He should have dealt with the situation better. He should have hidden the fear and the anger deep, deep down where it belonged. He should have gone on the attack. He should have…

Another time. Another time and he'd handle things differently. Another time and he'd never let Peterson or whoever get to him.

* * *

"So we got an agent missing? Why isn't Peterson reporting this?"

Wark and Martin exchanged glances.

"Agent Peterson's following up a lead in New Jersey," Wark said diplomatically.

There was a grunt from their superior at the other end of the phone and Wark was unsure whether that was approval or disbelief. He knew Peterson was a bit of an acquired taste at HQ.

"We got any other leads?"

"Possible Asian connection. We think Mendes might have been smuggling someone rather than something. We've got Mendes in custody. He knows details but he's not giving."

There was another grunt. "We'll post Howard as missing. Put pressure on Mendes."

And pray for a break. Right.

* * *

Peterson pawed his way through Ryan's bedroom, ignoring and enjoying the discomfort of Mrs Bloom as he pulled open drawers and examined the wardrobe.

No arguments about who was in charge. No arguments when he pushed open the other bedroom doors either though he could tell she didn't like it.

The room with the make-up and the costumes was unexpected. No accounting for what went on behind closed doors. Peterson picked up a deerstalker.

"Your husband like playing dress-up?"

"He's an actor. Amateur."

Peterson nodded thoughtfully. "He any good?"

_"I_ think so."

He dropped the hat and prodded the box of make-up incuriously.

"Robert following in his footsteps?"

"It's a little early to tell."

Right. Because punk kids like Blondie were too busy out raising hell to have a hobby.

Back downstairs, he handed over a card. "If Robert gets in touch, Mrs Bloom, you call me and let me know."

The woman nodded and Peterson smiled again as he left.

The smile disappeared as the door closed. It had been a disappointing visit in many ways, he thought as he padded back to his car. The Bloom household seemed positively respectable. He'd been half-hoping for a den of iniquity so that he could organise an official raid, make some arrests and turn up something that would divert attention from the embarrassment that was fast becoming the Mendes operation.

"Excuse me?" A honeyed voice interrupted his train of thought. "Do you have a moment?"

* * *

Peterson had gone and Annie's shoulders sagged with relief. FBI. Here in her house. Never in all the years she'd been with Saul had there been such a close encounter. She turned and walked into the lounge steeling herself for Millicent and her questions and there would be questions. Lots of them. Probing little darts designed to ferret out truth that would wound.

Millicent wasn't there. Instead, there was Lucy who jumped up from her chair and came dashing over to her, putting her arms round her.

"Are you OK, Annie? What did he want? Is Rusty OK?"

"Rusty's…" Missing. Arrested. Not fine. "Fine. Rusty's fine. That was an FBI agent who's investigating the disappearance of one of his people. Rusty may be a witness."

Lucy took a step back. "A witness?"

"Apparently, he was there when she…where's Millicent?" Annie asked urgently.

"She had to leave. It was a _woman _who went missing-?"

Annie wasn't listening. She stared out of the window. Peterson's car. Peterson. And Millicent. _No…_

"Annie…?" Lucy looked bemused as she sprinted from the room.

Her fingers fumbled with the lock on the door. Her legs stumbled, refusing to obey her. By the time she reached the end of the garden path, Peterson had driven off and there was only Millicent. Out of breath, Annie stood and gulped air, her eyes wide and frightened.

Millicent shot her a lazy smile. "Thank you for tea, Annie."

"What…what did you…" Annie panted, her heart pounding, "Millicent…"

A card appeared in Millicent's fingers.

"Agent Frederick Peterson," Millicent read aloud. "So comforting to know that the law is only a phone call away."

* * *

Back in the office, Bobby was beyond dog-tired and out the other side. Thirty-six hours straight but it had been worth it. The bad guys were dealt with and the good guys were heading home for a beer. He checked his watch. Might even get to read a bedtime story to Linus.

He dropped the case file on to his desk and stifled a yawn. It was a self-imposed rule of his that he write up the notes as soon as. If he waited till the next day, it meant he couldn't concentrate on fighting the next day's fire.

Bobby yawned again, this time out loud and stared at the blinking red light on his phone. He debated the wisdom of checking his messages.

"Don't put it off," he muttered and picked up the voicemail.

Two minutes later, Bobby had forgotten he was tired.

* * *

In another FBI office...

"Agent Wark? I saw the alert on Thalia Howard." The voice was rich with guilt. "There's something you should hear."

* * *

It was still afternoon but it was getting dark. December was like that. Rusty had cracked the shutters at the back to let some faint light in. It was less risky than switching the light on.

He couldn't understand what they were saying but Rusty had identified the four voices of the men. There was the man from the hotel, cool and abrupt, the Boss; there was the man who'd ordered the food, smooth and reasonable, the Advisor. And then there were the other two, younger, more volatile, more _dangerous _– the Hotheads_._

And Thalia's life hung in the balance and in the balance of power in the room. Whoever was most persuasive. At the moment, Rusty thought that was the Advisor rather than the Hotheads.

Rusty figured it would take less than ten seconds for him to put his foot through the plaster and drop down into the room where Thalia was. If the need arose. Until then, he was concentrating on gently pulling the crumbling plaster away, piece by piece.

* * *

Denver was a dead end. Saul had found the kid in question – one Jimmy Brooke – and he was pleasant and affable and nothing like Rusty. Saul had spun a story about a vague job that he might have on. Jimmy had been eager and guiltily, Saul made a note to himself to see if he could open some doors for Jimmy. But not right now.

Right now, he had to pick up the phone and call Annie and tell her that they were back to square one. Because they were. No news whatsoever.

With a heavy heart, he dialled his home number and listened in astonishment to the outpouring of tears and worry.

* * *

"Bobby, it's Saul."

"Just a minute." There was a pause and a clicking sound as Bobby switched to a more secure line. "You with me?"

"Yes. Annie said you called." Saul was trying but it was impossible to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

"Had a call from a guy called Murphy who wanted to let me know that someone else had shown an interest in a car I'd put a tag on."

"Guy called Peterson? He came calling."

"Annie had to deal with him?" Bobby let out a curse. "Man's an obnoxious bastard."

Saul nodded grimly. He'd got that impression.

"Annie said that he was investigating a missing agent."

"Yeah. He's put out an APB on Rusty. Don't ask me how Rusty's caught up in it because I haven't got a clue. But now I've spoken to you, I'm going to be all over it. I'll phone when I've got news. You heading home?"

Saul hesitated. Annie had sounded frantic and his instincts were to run back and wrap his arms round her and hold her tight. But if he could help find Rusty, if he could get the name of the town and drive to it and-

"Head home, Saul," came Bobby's advice and it was more than advice, it was an instruction. "I'm on it."

Still Saul hesitated because he could _see _Rusty in the hands of this boor, Peterson, and he wanted to rescue, to help, to-

"Saul."

"Alright," Saul agreed reluctantly. He trusted Bobby. He _had _to trust Bobby.

* * *

Two of the men had left. Rusty had heard the door go and he'd moved across to the front window and peered through the curtains. Two figures moving towards the diner. More food.

There was absolute silence in the room below. He couldn't even hear the other men breathing. This could be the time to-

Noise and a lot of it. Thalia. Rusty hurried back to the ceiling above the storage closet. Thalia had come to and was kicking merry hell out of the door to attract attention. Fuck. If they came in to shut her up, they could look up and see his handiwork. And if they came in to silence her... He tucked the knife into his waistband and readied himself to jump down and fight.

Nothing happened. No one came charging through the door. Thalia stopped eventually and shuffled back to the wall, laying her head against it. Rusty held his breath for a long, long moment but there was no comeback from the men in the other room.

He needed to act. This could be his best opportunity with two of them gone. If they heard him…well, he could do some damage with the knife. They'd have a chance.

Rusty picked up the rope and tied it firmly round a bed leg, pulling it hard. It would take his weight. Then he widened the hole he'd made, dropped the coil of rope through it and shimmied down into the room where Thalia was being held.

Thalia stirred.

* * *

Soft footsteps padded towards her and Thalia had never felt more helpless. She tensed, waiting for a fist or a knife or a boot and she did her best to make herself as small a target as possible, drawing up her knees and burying her face in them. No way she was going to make it easy for them.

"Thalia."

Barely breathed and then the blindfold was pulled away and the gag removed.

Incredulously, she peered into the half-darkness. "_Jersey?" _

Fingers squeezed her arm comfortingly.

"Quiet," came the gentle reproof.

Thalia nodded, even though she doubted he could see the gesture. Her own eyes were slowly adjusting to the almost-black and she could make out his outline. She wanted to ask him how he'd done the magic but he'd told her to be quiet and the question could wait.

His fingers were on her ankles, and he had a blade and was carefully sawing the rope. It took a while for the rope to fray through and then he started on her wrists. Her bonds fell away and a hand was underneath her elbow and helping her carefully upright before Jersey moved over to the door.

She wanted to throw the door open and run out of this prison and she waited impatiently as Jersey listened carefully. Silence. But Jersey was backing away, glancing at the shuttered windows before gesturing towards a rope that disappeared upwards like a mystical trick.

His mouth was right by her ear and she could feel his warm breath against her neck.

"You OK to climb?"

She nodded. If that was the way out of here, then she'd take it.

* * *

Back up in the room above, Rusty pulled the rope up and cut it free from the bed then dropped it back into his holdall together with the other tools.

Thalia had thrown open the shutters and was staring out at the night. Moonlight and cold air filtered through as he moved to stand beside her. She put her mouth to his ear.

"I could kiss you," she whispered, staring at freedom.

There was a little "_huh" _noise that she almost missed and then Jersey turned towards her. For a moment, she thought…

"Are you OK?" he asked in an undertone. "Did they hurt you?"

"Just a little shaken up," she replied.

"Wait here a minute."

He ghosted across the floor and into the bedroom, checking the front of the building. Thalia stared at the floorboards that had been taken up. Jersey had been busy.

"Let's go out the back way," Jersey said, returning to her side.

"How the hell are you here?" she asked him, keeping her voice low.

"I saw them hit you," he said and there was guilt in there. "And throw you in the back of the car. And I followed." He hesitated. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't stop them and I'm sorry it took me so long to-"

"You tailed me here?" Thalia interrupted quickly because none of this was his fault and she still couldn't quite believe he'd come for her.

He nodded.

"You tailed me here," she said again. "And you dug up the floor and you-"

"Rescued you," Jersey grinned in the moonlight.

"Yeah, you did," she murmured softly.

The grin faded and Jersey licked his lips.

"Right," he said and they peered out of the window together.

There were bushes to break their fall. She looked left at Jersey's profile, at the jawline and the way he held himself. At his breath showing in the frosted air. He was… He was… He was too young for her was what he was.

"I'll go first," Jersey said, throwing his bag out and then dropping gracefully down.

Thalia followed, landing in a somewhat less than dignified heap. Jersey was there to haul her to her feet.

"Car's round the corner," Jersey said, leading the way.

"You were right about Mendes and the contents of that holdall. What made you think about that?"

He shrugged. "Just thought it was possible. If the guy was the size of a grease man then he could fit into a bag."

_Grease man? _ How did he know what a… Thalia stared at him but he wasn't looking at her. Suddenly, he pulled her down to the ground and into the undergrowth.

"What is it?" she asked urgently.

"Two of them on their way back. There's four of them altogether."

"Yeah." She knew.

He was covering her body with his, protecting her and she was suddenly very conscious of how close they were. She could feel the warmth of him and she trembled and it was nothing to do with the cold.

* * *

Rusty felt her shiver and instinctively pulled her closer, his eyes on the two men crossing the parking lot. The Advisor with one of the Hotheads. He glanced at Thalia. Blood on her face and dust and dirt and that red silk shirt was ruined. And in spite of it all, she still looked… Mmm. He shook himself and concentrated on the men. Easier to do that than to think about the woman pressed up against him. Trouble was, now it was impossible _not_ to think about her. He swallowed. This wasn't help-

Bright lights trained on the front of the motel. Cars. Commotion. Men with guns and megaphones out of nowhere.

* * *

FBI. Thalia didn't know how they were there but they were.

"Huh," Jersey exclaimed softly and with feeling.

Thalia strained to see the reason why. One of the men who'd been crossing the parking lot had smashed the window of a convertible – Jersey's convertible – and was no doubt busy hotwiring it. The other man made a run for the motel room door and a gunshot was fired, bringing him down to the ground. The convertible squealed away and other cars chased it.

"My car…what do you think…"

…was going to happen to it. Thalia grimaced. Car chases with desperate men didn't end well. Cars crashed or got shot up or run off the road… She couldn't think of any where the suspect had pulled up sedately and meekly handed over the keys.

Jersey saw it all on her face and grimaced too. "I really liked that car."

Orders were being barked at the motel door, demanding surrender. Right about now, there'd be a certain smugness on the part of the bad guys that they'd kept Thalia alive. And right about _now_, there would be howls of disbelief as they discovered they didn't have a hostage. She didn't want to think about what would have happened if she had still been tied up in there.

"Thalia," Jersey said suddenly, looking at her with those blue eyes that she could just swim in. "I can't be here."

Peterson. Handcuffs. Thalia had witnessed the horror alive in Jersey that spoke of so much more than the misery of that moment.

"It's OK," she soothed. "I'll explain. You're a hero, after all."

Jersey shook his head. "No," he said firmly.

Thalia sighed. Well, she owed him that much. She listened and thought she heard Wark's voice. Ultimatums were being shouted. There wasn't much time. She sat up, careful to keep to the shadows and the cover of the scrub and Jersey did the same.

"If you're going to go, you'd better go now. Slip away before anyone finds you."

"What about you?"

Thalia smiled. "I'll be fine, Jersey boy."

Impulsively, she reached over and stroked his cheek and he caught her hand and pressed his lips into her palm.

"Oh, Jersey… You come look me up in a few years' time-"

He kissed her. Quick and electrifying and she caught her breath.

"Then give me your number," he whispered.

* * *

"Thalia!"

She walked towards Wark from the side of the motel and he hurried over to her, looking genuinely pleased to see her.

"Are you alright?"

"All good. We get the bad guys?"

Wark jerked his head at the front of the motel where FBI agents were leading out two men.

"We had to put one of them down – he's in the back of a car on its way to hospital. And one of the others took off but Martin's radioed to say they're closing in. How did you get away?"

Thalia gave a tired shrug. "They had me tied up in a back room. Found something to cut the ropes and I got out the back."

"Good," Wark said sincerely.

"Is Peterson here?" Thalia asked.

"No. He's on his way back from New Jersey. Went after that Robert Ryan you-"

"He's nothing to do with this," Thalia said immediately. "Nothing. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"OK, OK," Wark said soothingly. "We'll cancel the APB. You have any idea who the guy with Mendes is?"

"No," Thalia admitted. "Guess we're gonna find out." She squinted at Wark. "You found me how exactly?"

* * *

Rusty's plan was simple. Double back and walk through the darkness till he hit the main road then start hitching.

His car. He couldn't _believe _his car had been stolen. That wonderful, wonderful present from Saul and Annie and now it was who knew where. He sighed and hitched his holdall higher on his shoulder. He couldn't do anything about it. And if it came down to a choice between saving the car and saving Thalia…

The kiss tingled on his lips. Her number burned through him. It surely wouldn't be the last he saw of her.

* * *

Annie fell into Saul's arms as he walked through the door.

"Has Bobby called?" he asked and she shook her head at the same time as the phone rang.

Saul snatched up the receiver.

"It's Bobby."

"No," Saul said automatically, responding to the tone. "No."

He heard the gasp from Annie.

"I was on my way to…" Bobby sighed. "It doesn't matter. Saul, Murphy's reported that Rusty's car was involved in a high-speed chase. It crashed and it burst into flames." Bobby hesitated and then went on and his voice breaking. "They recovered a body."

"No," Saul whispered again. "No."

"I'm sorry," Bobby said tightly. "Look, I'm going to find out what happened. I promise. I'll call you."

The receiver slipped from Saul's numb fingers. He caught Annie before she collapsed on the floor.

* * *

A/N: ridiculously long chapter. :) And yes, yes, there's a Part Five.


	28. A Simple Plan Part Five

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: don't own any Ocean characters. Just borrowing.

**"So…"**

**"So."**

**"So, here we are."**

**"Uh huh."**

**"Me in evening dress and you, naked."**

**"That's right. In fact, _you'd_ better get naked too."**

_**?**_

**A shrug. "You always get arrested when you're wearing black tie."**

**"Ah, true, true." *undresses* "So, what's this fic about? Am I in it?"**

**"Nope. S'me. You don't turn up till…2015?"**

**"Huh."**

**"What are you doing?"**

**"Getting dressed again. That's _ages_ away."**

**"But-"**

**Knock on door. "Open up! Police!"**

**A sigh. "Too late.**"

Chapter Twenty-four: A Simple Plan Part Five

* * *

**Day Thirteen**

Annie looked like she didn't have any tears left to cry. She was curled up on the couch, her arms wrapped round her knees, her eyes staring dully straight ahead of her.

"Here," Saul said gently, offering her a glass of brandy. "It'll do you good."

She took a sip and pulled a face.

"Tastes awful," she shuddered, pushing it back into Saul's hands.

Saul put the brandy down on the coffee table, then sat down next to her and pulled her to him, his lips brushing her forehead.

"The thing is," Annie began, her voice barely above a whisper, "it's like my mother used to say. "You don't miss what you don't have"."

She trembled. "But when you _do _have something, Saul, when you have something you never dared hope for and it's so much better than you ever dreamed it would be…when you didn't even realise it was everything you always wanted and it's so amazing, and…and…"

A sob fell out of her and Saul's arms tightened.

"And it's ripped away from you and you never had the chance to make the most of things…"

Her face contorted with silent howling.

"Oh, Annie…" Tears rolled down Saul's cheeks.

"I mean I know he wasn't ours to keep," she went on falteringly. "I didn't expect him to stay here forever. I thought he'd grow up and have this wonderful life and we'd hear from him every now and then and he'd come visit and I'd m-make him apple crumble…"

The noise she made was drawn out and keening. Saul held her and they sat wordlessly for a while. Eventually, Annie twisted round in his embrace, a hesitant question on her face.

"What, my love?"

"Do you think that man…do you think he was involved?"

"Peterson?"

Annie nodded. Saul paused, considering, imagining Peterson hounding Rusty down, leaving him nowhere to turn, nowhere to go… Had Peterson forced Rusty's car off the road? Had Rusty been terrorised and terrified, desperately gripping the steering wheel, fighting for control?

"Bobby'll tell me," Saul said decisively. Peterson would never know what hit him.

His face wrenched.

"What is it?" Annie asked.

"I should have been here. When Rusty called. When Peterson visited. I should have been here." Misery ate at him. "I'm never here when I should be, Annie."

Annie kissed him clumsily, fiercely, repeatedly, and every kiss told him that there was no blame to be laid at his door and no guilt to be had.

* * *

Bobby had phoned Molly to tell her he wouldn't be home and had then driven straight out to Rosie's Diner and Motel to get the full story. The car had been hauled away but forensics were all over the motel room itself, dusting for prints, taking photos, gathering evidence. A flash of the badge and Bobby had gained entry.

Now he was stood in the storage closet of the room at the motel. The room where Agent Thalia Howard had been tied up and held prisoner before she'd managed to escape.

Bobby stared up at the ceiling, plaster crumbling and then bent down and studied the ropes on the floor. Cut ropes. He looked back up at the ceiling and frowned. Something was missing from this picture.

Upstairs and Bobby looked at the rolled back carpet and the uprooted floorboards. He squinted downwards. Tiny little peepholes carefully made. Some kind of voyeurism? Was this a little sideline the motel owner had going? Somehow it seemed far too energetic for the man Bobby'd seen sat behind the reception desk. Maybe an extra service he offered his guests?

He frowned again. All his instincts were screaming at him and he tended to listen to his instincts.

* * *

Saul had no idea what time it was. Light creeping round the edges of the drapes suggested it was day at least.

Annie was curled up against him on the couch and he was holding her close, stroking her hair. Saul glanced down at Annie, exhaustion written across her face and oblivion wiping out the agony. When she woke up, the pain would begin all over again.

Bobby's words echoed through him.

"_They recovered a body."_

Rusty's face swam in front of his eyes. Young and good-looking and with that fiery spark of intelligence burning through him. His face had lost that wary look of mistrust and he was starting to look at the wonder and possibility in life, starting to fulfil that promise... So much that Rusty could do…so _much_…

Angrily, Saul dashed away a tear. Life was just so unfair.

A light little knock at the door broke into his thoughts and he frowned. Didn't sound like Bobby and that was the only person Saul wanted to see. If it was Millicent, then Saul didn't trust himself not to commit homicide on the doorstep. It came a second time, even less sure of itself, but Annie didn't stir. Saul didn't stir either. Whoever it was could come back. They weren't open to visitors.

* * *

Lucy stared at the closed door and hesitantly raised her hand to knock a third time then let her arm fall down at her side. Her grandparents were back home and house-sitting duties over, she was heading off to Denver. She'd wanted to say goodbye.

Saul's car was parked out front but all the drapes were closed. The house looked shut off and private and Lucy was reluctant to disturb them. Seemed like there was something going on if the last few days with Annie were anything to go by.

Annie had still been smiling and friendly but Lucy got the impression that Annie's mind had been anywhere but in the room with her. She thought back to the FBI visit the previous day. What was _that_ all about? Not like that was an everyday occurrence. And the way Annie had run full pelt after Millicent… What Millicent had said…_insinuated_… There _couldn't_ be any truth in that, surely.

"_I think Robert has a little problem where the ladies are concerned…" That grating laugh. "After all, boys do have _urges_…" Those bright eyes, all things sincere. "You don't want to know the difficulty I've had with him. Right here in this house. You're better off staying away, Lucy. I'm saying this for your own protection."_

And more of the same and Lucy had looked at her disbelievingly but then the FBI guy had been there about an agent gone missing – a _female _agent – and Annie had gone running out of the door and… When Annie had come back in the house, all out of breath and distressed, Lucy had tried her best to look after her. Annie hadn't let her. Lucy had found herself firmly on the other side of the door.

Something was going on. Something to do with Rusty. Lucy sighed and walked back down the garden path. If they wanted to tell her, they'd tell her. She didn't want to intrude. She'd scribble a note or some-

"Lucy."

She looked up and there was Marty, stood by her car.

"Hi," she said, surprise showing in her voice. "I thought you were working today."

"I wanted to say goodbye," he said awkwardly.

"Didn't we do that last night?"

Last night of meal and drinks and holding hands and talking and walking and a soft, gentle kiss that seemed to last forever.

Marty reached out and took her hand in his. "I wanted to say it all over again."

* * *

Hitching lifts was an art in its own right. Rusty avoided the cars – lone women weren't going to stop, lone men were too much of an unknown and families didn't have room - and concentrated on the trucks.

Late afternoon, he hit luck with a driver – an Irishman called Red O'Shaughnessey who liked him.

"_I'll see you right, son."_

Drivers knew Red. Rusty was passed on at the truck stops with the mere mention of Red's name. The drivers were glad of the company, happy to have someone to listen to them grousing about the state of the roads, the unreasonable expectations of their bosses, whatever was going on back home while they were out on the road…

Hot dogs, milkshakes and conversations that required only monosyllables on his side and the miles flew away.

* * *

Bobby was sat in a room with Peterson, Wark and Howard having the details of the Mendes arrest explained to him. It had been quite a coup. They'd scooped up not only Mendes but also a senior member of a gang that worked out of New York and who was wanted for questioning on a gamut of crimes including a couple of cop murders.

There were links to the Chicago office with Mendes and it had been a legitimate follow-up for Bobby to speak to the bureau chief here and to want a full wash-up session.

Peterson was claiming the case even though he had been nowhere near the dramatic arrests at the motel. Even though he had dismissed the information that had been presented to him. Even though he had gone off on a wild chase that Bobby thought had more than the faintest trace of personal persecution in it as far as Robert Charles Ryan was concerned.

"Mouthy little punk," Peterson said earnestly and peripherally, Bobby noted Howard's knuckles whitening.

"Mendes was using him as a distraction, mark my words," Peterson went on.

"Well, if he was, it certainly worked," Bobby said pleasantly.

"Ryan was nothing to do with this," Howard said.

It was the first time the girl had spoken. Her voice was calm and clear and Bobby liked the sound of it.

"That why you let him go?" Peterson made a scoffing noise. "Nothing to do with it…so you say."

"I do say," Howard said firmly.

But that didn't explain what Rusty's car was doing at the scene. That didn't explain how Rusty had ended up dead. And somehow, it seemed that neither Peterson nor Howard knew this. Neither of them thought that Rusty was involved at the endgame.

* * *

Peterson wasn't happy. He was very, very far from fucking happy. His boss had already given him a roasting over the case. Wark seemed to have been given all the credit. There was talk of a bravery award for Howard. Peterson didn't understand how he had ended up the bad guy in all this.

And then Agent Bobby Caldwell had swung in from Chicago and they'd been asked to extend every courtesy to him. Peterson wasn't feeling very courteous. He'd barely bothered with the reports – the motel and the rescue and some car chase with one of the perps dying. What did it all matter? They'd got Mendes, hadn't they?

* * *

Bobby looked across the table at Wark. Wark was more guarded but Bobby could see the lack of respect for Peterson and Wark's own guilt at not getting to Howard sooner.

"How did you find her?" Bobby asked curiously.

And that had led to the tape being played back.

"_Agent Morrison. How can I help?"  
_

"_One of your agents is missing. Thalia Howard. I believe she is being held at Rosie's Motel and Diner."_

Bobby looked at the other three as the earnest, concise, passionate words bounced around the room. Peterson wasn't that interested – probably because he hadn't been involved in this part of the investigation. Wark was listening to the tape with the same intense expression that he had possibly worn when he'd heard it the first time round. Howard…Howard seemed mesmerised.

"_You think the FBI is going to start jumping every time someone phones them up?"_

"_Thalia-"_

"_If I had a dime for every conspiracy theory nut and fantasist who calls in-"_

"_Please! Thalia's in danger!"_

Bobby's eyes were on Howard for her reaction. The faint flush was answer enough.

* * *

Thalia listened to Jersey's voice, pleading for someone to listen to him, for someone to help _her. _She pictured him, those blue eyes full of desperation… She hoped he was far away and safe. All she could do was keep his name out of the official paperwork so that Peterson didn't go after him again. She'd heard from Wark that he'd paid a home visit. Jersey's parents were probably still recovering.

She wasn't too sure about this guy from Chicago. Oh, he made a good impression professionally and there was something in his manner that made her want to trust him implicitly. Didn't mean she was necessarily going to.

* * *

"Figure it's the kid at the diner," Wark said as the tape came to an end. "Haven't got round to taking a full statement yet but it looks like they ordered room service. Figure the kid took it to them and overheard something he shouldn't have done. Maybe spotted Thalia's ID on the side."

Wark picked up the story of assembling a team and leading the charge to Rosie's but Bobby's mind was racing. He would wager an uninterrupted weekend with Molly and Linus that Howard knew the voice giving the information and he wondered why she hadn't volunteered the identity.

"…we brought in three men. The fourth got away but we gave chase and the suspect's car crashed. The suspect did not survive."

Rusty Ryan. Suspect. Had he been kidnapped too? Coerced into accompanying the men? Had he tried to get away?

"Agent Caldwell?" It was Wark. "Do you have everything you need?"

Bobby saw the exhaustion seeping through the younger man's face. Wark probably hadn't stopped since Howard had gone missing. Howard herself was probably running on fumes. Peterson, he didn't much care about.

"I think so, thank you."

The three of them stood up to leave.

"Agent Howard?" Bobby called her back as she followed the other two out of the room.

She smiled brightly at him. "Something else, Agent Caldwell?"

"Please. Have a seat."

Howard hesitated and then sat down again, warily. Bobby sat next to her.

"You've been through quite a bit," he said gently. "How are you holding up?"

Howard relaxed. "I'm OK, sir."

She shrugged away the terror and the pain as if it were an everyday experience and Bobby liked her even more.

"Who do you think that was making that call?" Bobby asked.

The wariness was back again. "Like Wark said. Probably the kid at the diner."

Bobby smiled and left it for the moment. "I had a look round where you were being held. That was some escape."

The wariness increased. "I got lucky."

Bobby said nothing. Silence was often a sound tactic. Howard's face grew more defensive.

"I got free. Just before Wark showed up."

"I read your account," Bobby told her. "It's a little light on details."

"It's a bit _blurry_ on details," Howard retorted. "A blow to the head will do that. Sir."

She wasn't giving anything or anyone up and Bobby fixed her with his keenest, most searching gaze. Her mouth set tightly and she held his stare defiantly. Bobby made his mind up. He reached into the pocket and pulled out the picture of Rusty that Saul had given him and laid it down in front of Howard.

"This is Robert Charles Ryan. Known as Rusty to his friends and family."

Howard reached out as if to run a finger over the photo and then stopped as if thinking better of it.

"Now, I don't know how Rusty got mixed up in this but I seriously doubt it's Peterson's version of events."

Howard's mouth gave a nervous twitch. Bobby leaned closer, closing the distance, building the air of confessional between them.

"Agent Howard…Thalia...Rusty went missing straight after Thanksgiving. And the people Rusty lives with are friends of mine. They're frantic. I said I would try to help find him. Now, if you know anything about how he ended up dead-"

"Dead?" The shock was genuine and Bobby felt hope leap inside him.

"His car," he explained. "The chase."

There was a pause and she looked at him as if making her mind up about him. Then she said, "Jersey- _Rusty_ - wasn't in the car."

* * *

Saul was sitting at the kitchen table watching Annie go through the motions of making breakfast. It was probably past breakfast time. It was probably past lunchtime.

"Thanks," he said as she put the cups of coffee and the toast on the table and then sat down beside him.

"You should eat," Annie murmured.

To please her, he picked up a slice of toast and bit into it, chewing mechanically and was aware of her sipping the hot coffee in an almost equally perfunctory manner.

Saul could only manage a single bite. He put the toast back down on the plate.

"Do you think I was wrong, Annie?" he whispered. "To bring him here, I mean. Because if he was back with…" He broke off with a shudder and then forced himself to go on. "If he was back there, then he'd still be alive."

"Not in any way that counts!" Annie exclaimed. "You said yourself, Saul, it wasn't any sort of life!"

He felt her hand creep into his.

"You wouldn't be the man I know you are if you'd walked away from him, Saul."

Saul leaned across and kissed her on the forehead. "You're not sorry?"

Annie gave him a look of complete and utter love and he felt for the umpteenth time how lucky he was to have found her.

The phone rang, breaking the moment, and they looked at each other and then hurried to the hall.

"Saul, it's Bobby." Bobby's voice was overflowing with relief. "Good news."

And the world began again.

* * *

**Day Fifteen**

"Hey, kid." A dig in the ribs shook Rusty out of the light doze. "Here you go."

Rusty blinked blearily in the early morning light at the nine letters on the hillside.

"Welcome to the dream factory," the driver said. "I'll drop you off in town. Hope you find what you're looking for, kid."

By the time he reached the empty diner, he was ready for breakfast. Funny, but he hadn't noticed hunger when he'd been helping Thalia and yet that must have been the first time he hadn't eaten since… Since before he'd met Saul.

_Saul… Annie… _Rusty ran a hand over his mouth. It still hurt too much to think about them. He pushed open the door to the diner, blinking fiercely and sank into a seat by the window, grabbing a menu.

"See anything you fancy?"

It was delivered straight. Rusty looked up at a young heart-shaped face, strawberry blonde hair, startling blue eyes, a perfect upturned nose and a namebadge that declared her to be _"Jody"_. She looked like a movie star.

"Strawberry-milkshake-and-waffles, please," he said rapidly.

"Sure thing, hon."

A kilowatt smile. A figure to die for. Rusty stared after her and then realised and snapped his attention back round and away.

"You new in town?"

Rusty looked up at the waiter who'd spoken. _"Marco". _Dark-haired, square-jawed, green-eyed and with a blinding smile.

"Yeah…" Rusty said, adding stupidly, "Are you…are you in the movies?"

He regretted the words almost as soon as they'd left his mouth as Marco let out a high-pitched snort – possibly a whinny.

"Jody! Jody! He thinks I'm a movie star!"

Jody returned with Rusty's order and a big smile. "Well, that's a nice thing to say. You think _I'm _in the movies too?"

"You're pretty enough," Rusty said honestly.

"Well, so are you," Jody told him and glanced fondly at Marco. "So are we all."

"Ain't that the truth," Marco sighed heavily, leaning up against the back of the booth. "Fifty new faces a day falling into town."

"Everyone wanting to make it big," Jody agreed. "Everyone wanting to break into the movies. Everyone wanting their name up in lights."

Well, Rusty didn't want to. He'd spent most of his life trying to stay invisible, one way or another. But he looked at Marco and Jody and the dream was alive in their eyes.

"How long have you guys…?" he tailed off, suddenly aware that it might be an awkward question.

"Eight months," Jody replied.

"Just over a year," Marco added.

Neither of them seemed fazed by the delay in stardom.

"We're all over town," Jody gave a shrug and a smile. "Waiting tables and pumping gas."

* * *

Jody and Marco had been generous with their time, their stories and their advice. They were both of them waiting for their big break in the shape of talent scouts.

"_You never know who's going to walk through the door and see you."_

They both had agents. They both had a portfolio of portraits. They had both had a string of auditions. Jody had even had a couple of call backs.

"_Just a matter of time, Rusty. Just a matter of time."_

In the meantime, they hung on to the dream as tightly as they could, any way that they could. Rusty liked them.

"You want somewhere cheap and clean to stay, you could try Mama Liz's on Dexter Street," Jody suggested. "S'where I stayed when I first came."

Dexter Street wasn't far away and Mama Liz's boarding house had vacancies.

"Hundred and fifty dollars a week and I throw in breakfast," she announced, throwing open the door to the tiny room. "No drink, no drugs, no funny business. Front door closes at midnight. You get back here after that, you can spend the night on the sidewalk wishing you owned a watch that worked."

Seemed a good deal. Rusty handed over the cash and then dropped his holdall on the bed. Mama Liz left him to it and he crossed to the window and pulled back the thin drapes. Opposite was a large billboard with a peeling, faded poster.

"_Welcome to Hollywood"_.


	29. A Simple Plan Part Six

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: I didn't create any Ocean's character. Just borrowing them.

Chapter Twenty-nine: A Simple Plan Part Six

* * *

**Day Sixteen**

Mama Liz was of an indeterminate age, had been in the chorusline of a handful of 1950s musicals and cooked a mean bacon sandwich.

Rusty had gone back to thank Jody for the recommendation and there'd been a coffee on the house and he'd sat and listened to how their day had gone and felt relaxed and comfortable. Jody had promised to ask if there were any jobs going anywhere.

"And if you want some quick bucks," Marco added, "you can try Lonergan." He scribbled a phone number and handed it over to Rusty. "He'll see you right, if you know what I mean."

Rusty's fingers tightened on the paper. "No," he said softly. "I don't know what you mean."

He looked hard at Marco who stared back and then made the snorting whinny noise again.

"Oh, nothing like _that."_

It turned out that Lonergan worked on problems that held up production, both for the big studios – sourcing union-sanctioned men to fill niche technical roles – and for the small ventures - putting together teams of unskilled labour to work on the sets before filming started. He was also, as it happened, looking for some immediate help.

"Be outside the Standard Hotel at nine o'clock tomorrow." Lonergan's voice was clipped and no-nonsense. "White van'll pick you up."

* * *

**Day Seventeen**

The Standard Hotel was in a smart area of town. Smart people walked in and out of the doors and Rusty watched a dozen different lives float past him. The hotel was nicely situated and it had great window frontage although that was cluttered with dirty net curtains. Now if _he_ owned the hotel, he'd sweep all that away and let the light in…

The daydream continued until at nine o'clock, on the dot, a white van pulled up and a middle-aged man leaned out of the window.

"You Ryan?"

Rusty nodded and found himself the subject of cool scrutiny. Apparently he passed.

"I'm Lonergan. Get in."

* * *

**Day Nineteen**

"Annie OK?" Bobby asked Saul, passing him a coffee.

They were sat in Bobby's front room again.

"As well as can be expected," Saul said honestly. "She's doing a hundred times better since we found out Rusty's alive. We both are."

Thalia's story and Bobby had played the tape down the phone and just hearing Rusty's voice again had been magical.

"Where are you headed next?"

"San Francisco," Saul said decisively.

"You got a lead?"

"No," Saul admitted. "But big cities, remember. And…Romero's based there."

He took a swig of coffee as he saw Bobby's reaction.

"Romero isn't-"

"Romero _isn't,"_ Saul agreed.

Romero wasn't reliable in the slightest. And if he got wind of the reason Saul was there, then it would be like Grady but worse: Romero would bleed him dry. But Romero had a big web of contacts and if Saul could get some leverage, something that Romero wanted, then maybe, just maybe…

Bobby's face was still grim.

"You take care of yourself. I don't want to have to come looking for you too."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll wear a flower in my hair in case you need to spot me," Saul said lightly.

"Saul…" Warningly.

He sobered up. "I'll be careful, Bobby."

There was too much at stake to lose if he wasn't.

* * *

**Day Twenty-one**

Rusty felt like he probably shouldn't admit it but he was enjoying himself.

The work with Lonergan had been hard graft but fun. The past few days, he'd laboured alongside a handful of other men to clear out a soundstage and to build and dress a new set. Rusty had understood the methodical approach and felt the satisfaction when the project came to an end and he was stood looking at a new world just waiting for the magic to happen.

In between times, he'd done the touristy thing. Stars Homes Tour and Grauman's Chinese Theatre and Santa Monica Boulevard. He'd sat in a smart Santa Monica café called Juliette's and people-watched and spun a hundred different stories in his head. He'd walked through the crowds of beautiful people and hidden himself. Yesterday afternoon, he'd watched _"Stir Crazy"_ at the cinema with a big bag of popcorn and a large Coke and as downtime went, Rusty thought he'd never tire of the experience.

Hollywood had much to commend it.

Rusty walked down the sidewalk and felt the freedom of anonymity cover him. He could really get to like this city. He passed a diner and then retraced his steps and went inside: it was lunchtime, after all.

* * *

"No, Clive, Jolson isn't here yet, thank God." Marmalade Adams stood at the back of the diner, speaking fast and low into the receiver. "Have you spoken to Stefan?"

"He's disappeared."

She knew better than to take it out on Clive. He would have scoured the neighbourhood looking for Stefan.

"The boy is an eighteen-carat fuck!" she said with feeling.

"Christophe said he thought Stefan had been offered a part in a soap."

"Like fuck, he has. More likely some rich bitch has dangled cash at him and he's fucked off with him or her."

"What are we going to do, Marmalade?" Clive asked.

"Let me think."

Given time, she could always come up with a plan but Jolson chose that moment to walk through the door of the diner. Thinking time was up.

"Gotta go, Clive."

She hung up, switched on a light, bright smile, sank down at a table and prepared to lie her head off.

* * *

The tall skinny man walking through the door of the diner coincided with the arrival at table of the hotdog and the strawberry milkshake. Rusty vaguely registered that the man was sitting down with the woman with the shock of orange hair but his most immediate attention was taken up by the food and the drink.

Ketchup _and_ mustard. He sank his teeth into the sausage and started to eat with enthusiasm.

* * *

Jolson was sleazy and sly but that was alright because Marmalade didn't want to sleep with him and wasn't going to take him home to mother. Jolson served a purpose, namely, providing a large rent-free apartment for business use and occasionally donating a little seed money on the strict understanding that it would be returned with dividends.

That was where things had gone slightly awry. A series of unrelated incidents and accidents with equipment and personnel had left them without anything to show Jolson for his money for over six weeks now. And Stefan fucking off to fuck knew where wasn't going to help matters. Jolson was an impatient man.

"Well, Ms Adams?"

Jolson's voice was dry and soft and slightly sibilant. Exactly how she imagined a snake might speak.

She beamed at him.

"Let me give you the good news."

* * *

Rusty finished, with regret, the last drop of strawberry milkshake. That was a drink he didn't think he would ever tire of. He ran a finger over the corner of his mouth and found milkshake, ketchup and mustard. He licked it off his fingertip and raised an eyebrow at the combination: not _completely _unpleasant…

"You want anything else, hon?" the waitress asked.

Rusty hesitated, the money in his jacket pocket whispering that he could just have a slice of pie, maybe… No. He ought to be sensible. He was nearly through the cash – not that that mattered tremendously, he had more in the bank – but he ought to steady up. These past few days, he'd been acting like he didn't have to worry about money.

"Just the bill, please."

"I'll take care of that."

Startled, Rusty looked up to see the flame-haired woman smiling down at him and brandishing twenty dollars at the waitress.

"I can buy my own meals," he said quickly but the waitress had taken the cash and his unexpected benefactor had slid into the seat opposite him.

Rusty stared at her. In her forties, bright blue eyes, scarlet lipstick that clashed with her hair…

"Marmalade Adams," she said by way of introduction.

"I said I can buy my own meals." His voice was clear and steady and definite.

"Oh, let me treat you." Aiming for disarming and charming.

The door. He could get past her and make it to the door and run... He swallowed. He _could. _And that was all he needed to know. Rusty made himself sit tight.

"What do you want?"

Marmalade's smile grew wider.

"I want to make you a star."

* * *

_Jolson had sat and listened as she outlined the new film that just needed a little more investment from Jolson. The new film, the arthouse film that was going to make them rich, maybe even semi-legal… _

"_Soulful. Beautifully lit."  
_

_Jolson was unimpressed and Marmalade sighed inwardly. _

"_And lots and lots of hot, raw sex," she promised. _

"_Stefan?" Jolson asked slowly._

_He liked Stefan. Stefan-who-was-fuck-knew-where. Marmalade kept the smile on her face. _

"_Actually, we've got a newcomer. Debutant. Fresh and sexy. Camera _loves _him-" _

"_That him over there?" _

_She followed Jolson's gaze. Blond and beautiful sat alternately sucking on a milkshake and wrapping his mouth around a hotdog. _

"_Well, of course, it is," she said smoothly. "Thought you'd like to see him. You imagine those lips in action?"_

"_With Ty?" Jolson was mesmerised by that mouth._

_He liked dark-skinned Ty too. Jolson liked watching the boys through the one-way mirror and jerking off and he thought Marmalade didn't know._

"_Sure with Ty." Marmalade warmed to her theme. "Ty on top, all hard and sweaty…Blondie's legs wrapped around Ty… Ty's hands holding him down…"_

"_Yeah…" Jolson's eyes were glazed over. He licked his lips. "I want to fuck him."_

"_Well, who wouldn't?" Marmalade watched the face lost in enjoyment. It wasn't hard to imagine that same expression in other circumstances._

"_No." Jolson turned back to her. "I want to fuck him."_

_Oh. As part of the deal. Marmalade grinned._

"_Of course, you do. That can be arranged."_

_Promise them the moon now and see if you can get away with a picture of it._

"_Yeah. Well, I guess I'll see you both later."_

_Jolson got to his feet and hurried out the door and Marmalade knew exactly where he was headed: somewhere private where he wasn't going to be disturbed._

_She glanced over at Blondie. Now all she had to do was make the story true._

* * *

Rusty frowned down at the little business card Marmalade had handed him.

_Marmalade James, Professional Talent Scout, Starlight Productions. _

"Make me a star?"

"Everyone wants to get into the movies and I'm the person who can make that happen. If you've got the right look. And you have. You can go all the way to the top. Hollywood beckons. Fame calls. With that face, you could make a _fortune_."

Rusty repressed the shudder.

"Thanks. But I don't want that."

Marmalade's smile flickered for a moment. "500 dollars. For three days' work."

Rusty smiled back at her. "No."

"600 dollars," Marmalade said immediately.

_Saul handing over sixty dollars for three nights…keeping him safe…_

"No," he said again. "Thank you."

He waited for her to try again, ready to refuse once more but Marmalade simply sighed and nodded.

"Well, it's a real shame, but I understand. You're more about the practical than the spotlight, maybe. Tell you what I _could_ use. I promised a friend of mine I'd get him a gopher for a film he's shooting. You know what a gopher is?"

Warily, Rusty nodded. He knew.

"Doesn't pay anywhere near as well but it's cash in hand. Fifty dollars a day."

Rusty opened up his mouth to say no and then shut it again. Fifty dollars. Fifty dollars was fifty dollars and this might actually be something he enjoyed doing. Working behind the scenes on a movie…helping out with the details behind the magic…

Marmalade smiled.

"Good lad." She fished a paper and pen out of her pocket. "Here's the address. Be there at seven – it's a nighttime shoot. What's your name by the way?"

He hesitated.

"Ryan," he said reluctantly. "Rusty Ryan."

"See you later, Rusty Ryan."

Marmalade disappeared out of the diner and left Rusty turning the card over and over in his hand.

* * *

"Starlight Productions?" Jody's brow creased. "I've never heard of them. Not that that means anything, of course. There's loads of little independent companies around here. If you can't join the big boys then one of the options is to set up on your own."

Rusty nodded and started to thank her.

"Wait a moment. Marco?" Jody turned to the dark-haired waiter. "You heard of Starlight Productions?"

Marco frowned and thought for a moment. "No…no…oh, wait a moment, I think Jennie went and worked for them as an extra on a period piece. Yeah…think she enjoyed it."

"Jennie's working on a Fox film now," Jody confided with more than a hint of envy.

Huh. Well, that sounded like a reference of sorts.

"Go for it, Rusty," Jody smiled. "You always regret things you don't do far more than things you do, don't you?"

_Going to MacAvoy's flat a small lifetime ago. Going home with Saul. _

Rusty stared at the card with Marmalade's name on it. This could go either way.

* * *

Jody'd waved Rusty on his way and then the diner had got busy. She and Marco had been rushed off their feet and it had been another two hours before they'd had chance to catch their breath.

Jody leaned up against the counter and sipped a glass of water.

"Hope Rusty's getting on alright at Starlight Productions. You think he'll remember us if he gets involved in the big time?"

"Doubt it. No one ever does," Marco sighed. He frowned. "Starlight? You know, I think I got that wrong, Jody. It might have been Spotlight Productions that Jennie worked for."

"Spotlight, Starlight…" Jody shrugged. "Wish one of them would come looking for me."

* * *

Marmalade was considering her options as far as Mr Rusty Ryan was concerned. She didn't believe his protestations about not wanting to be on camera. In her experience, _every_one wanted to be a movie star and in an ideal world, the conversation would go as it usually did. A generous amount of alcohol, a little interrogation as to personal circumstances followed by Clive and the cameras.

A few headshots, to start with.

"_Let's get your best side."_

And then the camera with no film inside would be laid down and Clive would pick up the one that worked.

"_If you'll just strip off for me, please."_

Clive said it politely as if it were expected and some of them would without qualms. Others would hesitate and look across at Marmalade, sitting in the chair, whisky in hand, smiling encouragement.

"_We thought you understood how things are done here. What commitment you need to show." _

Say it regretfully. Let the flavour of disappointment colour the words. Make them feel as if they were naïve. Stupid. Get them to convince themselves to take their clothes off, confusion and humiliation burning in their eyes at the truth behind this Hollywood dream.

Photographs. Clive was a skilled photographer. He knew the shots that sold. And after a few minutes…

"_I'd like to get some screen test footage, if that's OK."_

The camera. Allow a few moments of self-conscious preening and then some encouragement to…well, to take matters in hand.

"_You need to communicate with your audience. You need to seduce them. You need them to want you. Can you show me that? Can you show me how much you want this?"_

They'd play to the camera, stroking their own bodies, running fingers over their own flesh. And those who were brazen and pouting were fine but Marmalade preferred those who were awkward and reluctant. With all those flashes of vulnerability, the tears that they were fighting not to shed. Doing what they were doing in spite of themselves and hating themselves for what they were doing. It came over on the camera and there was a special market for those movies. Clients who liked the idea of innocence yielding and who were willing to pay a premium for it.

And then…

"_It would be great to get some action shots. Something dramatic. Something arty."_

One of the boys – Ty, say – walking in and sitting down.

"_You're not homophobic, I hope?" _

A leading question delivered lightly. And after that… Kisses… Caresses… And if the boy were to be persuaded, more… All on film. Marmalade got enough footage from that to make a nicely profitable bundle of "firsts".

Nothing the boy didn't agree to even if consent might be somewhat…dubious. But if the boy made it through all that then signing them up afterwards was a cinch.

Well, that was the usual. Marmalade looked at the bottles of cheap whisky on the side in the kitchen of the apartment. Maybe she needed to lay in some of the powerful stuff just for insurance. Because she needed Rusty Ryan right where she wanted him.

* * *

The address led Rusty to a row of shops and a little passageway in the middle of them. Rusty climbed the stairs up to a door with paint peeling and his hand stopped on its way to knocking. Oh, he had a bad feeling about this…

Suddenly, the door opened and Marmalade was there, smiling and welcoming.

"Rusty! Come on in, come on in."

Warily, he trailed after her into a living area where a man in his forties was smiling brightly.

"Well, hello! Are you Marmalade's new recruit?"

"Clive, this is Rusty Ryan."

"Rusty. Rusty. It's a good name. A great name." Clive stood up and shook his hand vigorously. "You ever thought of changing it?"

"What?" Rusty blinked.

"Ignore Clive," Marmalade laughed. "His little joke. Clive is our director we were talking about. Does all these wonderful arthouse movies. You like arthouse, Rusty?"

Rusty wasn't sure what counted as arthouse. He thought about the French season that he'd watched at...that he'd watched. "You mean like _'La Belle et La Bete'_?"

"The Bell and the Bet," Clive nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly."

Before Rusty could react, Marmalade had pushed a large whisky into his hand.

"I told Clive that you didn't want to see your name in lights."

Rusty nodded. "That's right."

"You don't want to see yourself up on the big screen?" Clive sounded disbelieving.

"I don't," Rusty said firmly and he could hear the truth loud in his voice.

Marmalade interrupted with a clipboard and a pen.

"Now sit yourself down and fill in these forms. Legalities."

Rusty took a sip of the whisky to be polite and then stared at the questions. _Name, date of birth, nationality…_

"We need to get all your details if you're going to be working with us."

Rusty nodded and set to work on the first page. Marmalade looked over his shoulder.

"No next of kin?" Marmalade murmured.

"No."

No. _(Except…)_ No.

"And you're staying at Mama Liz's? That's nice and local. Have some more whisky. Clive and me are just going to step outside for a moment."

* * *

The kitchen where Tyson was sitting waiting at the table with a takeaway and a soda. The kitchen and a conference held in low tones.

"He's gorgeous," was Clive's succinct verdict. "The camera's going to love him."

"Yeah." Marmalade was frowning. "You believe him about the fame thing?"

Clive was frowning too. "Maybe."

"He got any relatives going to come looking?" Tyson drawled.

"No family he's telling us about. And he's at Mama Liz's."

"Regular waif and stray," Clive muttered.

"So we don't need to ask politely," Tyson said, flexing his muscles.

Marmalade pursed her lips considering, playing the scene through in her head.

"No," she said reluctantly. "That could go wrong. I don't want trouble with the cops."

"Drugs?" Clive asked.

"No. Nothing he can take to the police. That goes for you, too, Ty. I don't want any marks. You be firm but gentle with him. We stick to the whisky and lots of it but not to the point where he's unconscious. I just want him…uninhibited." Uninhibited and unable to fight back. "And when you've finished, Ty, Jolson wants to meet him." She shot a look at Clive. "We could leave the cameras rolling."

"Jolson's not going to sell any movies," Clive scoffed.

"He might want to buy that one, though," Marmalade said with a bright smile. She picked up a bottle of the good stuff. "C'mon. We've left him on his own too long."

* * *

A/N: I have given up trying to fathom how long this chapter arc is going to be. Longer, that is for sure. ;)


	30. A Simple Plan Part Seven

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: I did not create any Ocean's 11 character. More's the pity.

A/N: dedicated to wonderful idiots everywhere. ;)

Chapter Thirty: A Simple Plan Part Seven

* * *

**(Still) Day Twenty-one**

Gaining an audience with Romero had taken Saul a couple of days. From what he could gather, Romero had had a close call a few years back and now it took a lot to get him to set foot outside his house, choosing instead to do business remotely. Getting the message through took time. As Saul had told Annie earlier, it wasn't like you could phone up and make an appointment like you could the dentist. He'd said it as a joke but even as he'd done so, Saul could picture the look of tight concern on Annie's face.

"_It's OK, Annie. Romero is always willing to listen. We could find out what we need to know in a matter of days. Romero is the man who gets answers to questions really quickly." _

And that was the truth. In more ways than one.

Now, Saul sat in the restaurant and sipped the mineral water and waited and only hoped that what he had to offer would be enough. There'd been more than a little hesitation from whoever Romero had answering his phone and Saul had found himself painting promises of vague but tangible wealth. Funny but he'd never thought Romero would be so obvious.

He looked up as the man arrived without fanfare. Without fanfare but with entourage. Saul counted eight bodyguards who immediately started encouraging diners on the nearby tables to move until there was no danger of anything said being overheard.

Saul stared at the man lounging in the chair opposite. Thirties. Bleached blond hair cut close to his head. A scar snaking down the right side of his face and he wore it proudly. Like a badge of honour. He bared his teeth at Saul and the light glinted on gold in his mouth.

"So. I hear you wan' to see Romero, old man. Well, you found him. Start talking."

Saul opened and closed his mouth then tried again.

"I'm hoping we can help one another."

* * *

Rusty was busy filling in the paperwork. There were some questions which seemed straightforward enough and others that seemed… well… personal. Was it really necessary to know his medical history in that level of detail?

He settled back on the couch and his heel clipped something. Curious, he reached underneath and pulled out a video tape with a neat little handwritten label on it. _"Stefan and Christophe". _Rusty frowned. Was this one of Clive's arthouse movies? It certainly sounded like it _could_ be. There was _"Jules et Jim",_ after all. But it also sounded like…

Carefully, Rusty put the clipboard down on the couch and shot a look at the closed door where Marmalade and Clive had disappeared. He glanced over at the other door behind him that was ever so slightly ajar. Quietly, he stood up and ghosted towards it. As he got closer, his nose wrinkled automatically. And as Rusty pushed the door open,

_...a huge bed..._

the cloying smell filled his nostrils

_...two cameras carefully positioned..._

and drove him right back to another flat

_...a big mirror on the wall... _

and another sickly perfume that was used to cover up the smells of sex.

He had to get out of there.

He was level with the couch when the kitchen door opened and Marmalade and Clive reemerged. Rusty's brain was already doing the calculations. Marmalade had her hands full with whisky and he could take on Clive and the distance to freedom was…

"This is Tyson," Marmalade nodded at the stranger who was suddenly between Rusty and the door. "Say hi to Rusty, Ty."

"Hi," Ty rumbled.

Ty. Broad and muscled and tall. Three of them. Three of them. Rusty hesitated on next steps and Marmalade's eyes glinted dangerously.

"You OK, Rusty?" Marmalade voice was sharp.

"Fine." Rusty concentrated on projecting relaxed and trusting. "I finished the questions. I was coming to find you."

"Good. Good." The tension seemed to leave Marmalade and the smile on her face was bright. "You going to sit down and have a drink with us? Tyson's starring in the movie and we're going to have a readthrough. It would really help if you could read one of the parts for us."

He needed to buy time. He needed to find the right opportunity. And that meant he needed to go along with this game.

"Sure," Rusty said. "Sure."

Dogeared scripts were found for him and Ty. Ty sat next to him on the couch and Marmalade and Clive retook their seats opposite. Rusty noted with grim amusement that the clipboard was discarded on the floor without a second glance.

Marmalade poured them all a fresh glass of whisky and after he'd seen Clive and Tyson drink, Rusty took a wary sip. He could barely control his reaction: this stuff was _potent_.

"Drink up, Rusty," Marmalade encouraged. "Here's to new beginnings."

Rusty's fingers tightened on the glass of whisky. It wasn't difficult to see the plan: enough alcohol and resistance wouldn't enter into it. It wasn't hard to imagine this working with others that Marmalade had brought back here and he repressed the shudder. He needed to come up with something fast.

* * *

Marmalade topped up his glass for the fourth time and Rusty gave her a lopsided smile. He reckoned he only had one shot at this. Let them think he was more out of it than he was. Saul's lessons on drinking flashed through his mind and somehow he doubted that Saul had ever imagined him using what he'd learned like this.

The script was an eternal duologue that went on for pages and pages. Tyson mumbled his way through his part and Rusty made a point of stumbling over his responses, slurring the odd word. He caught the glances between Marmalade and Clive when he did so.

Now. Now, while they thought he was off-balance and susceptible.

Rusty took a long drink and then put his glass down, slopping a little whisky over the top. He dropped the script onto the floor, blinking heavily.

"Gotta take a leak," he said, staggering to his feet. "That OK?"

Ask for permission. Wait for permission. Allay suspicion. He stood, swaying politely, and Marmalade's smile was warm.

"Of course. Bathroom's second door on the left."

Second door on the left. Close to the front door. Rusty stepped with deliberate clumsiness over Ty's outstretched legs and fought the urge to make a break for it. He could feel the eyes burning into his back as he walked slowly towards safety. He mustn't run. He mustn't run. He…

He was level with the bathroom door.

_Now _he could run.

There was a cry from behind him and he didn't need to look to know that he had seconds – less than seconds. His fingers worked the Yale lock and the door was open, the door was _open_ and the blast of cold air hit him in the face.

And then weight slammed into him, knocking him face first into the wall of the flat.

Ty. Had to be. Dragging him back into the flat, pulling the sleeves of his leather jacket back off his shoulders, limiting his reach and swing. Rusty twisted round, struggling in Ty's grasp and Marmalade was there, stretching past the pair of them to push the door shut.

"No need to fight," she said soothingly. "We're not going to hurt you, Rusty."

"Nah," Ty agreed pleasantly. "You and me are going to have a _good _time."

The fuck they were. Rusty kicked Ty hard in the shin and Ty grunted, his mouth twisting, reaction building but he didn't let go.

"Ty!" Marmalade said warningly. "Just get him back on the couch."

Just a little bit more room to fight and he could-

Pain. Sudden and screaming through him and he couldn't make a sound, he couldn't _think_ of resisting and he was being pulled back into the flat. Dully, he heard Marmalade saying, "If you're lucky, Ty will kiss them better later".

"Or if you're unlucky," Ty muttered, "I'll piss in your mouth."

He was on his back, his head propped up against the arm of the couch, Tyson straddling him, Clive laying on his legs and try as he might, he couldn't lift his arms, his jacket still pinioning him.

"Get the fuck off me!" Rusty snarled.

"Now, now," Marmalade said chidingly as he continued to struggle, "just relax and drink up, Rusty. Tomorrow this is all going to seem like one big wet dream."

The bottle was at his lips and he tried to twist his head away but Marmalade's fingers were tight in his hair and the whisky was flowing into his mouth relentlessly and all he could see was the gleam in Marmalade's eyes.

* * *

He choked and swallowed and choked again, alcohol running out the sides of his mouth but the whisky didn't stop. So much whisky. He'd lost track of how much. He thought that he was on the second bottle but his head was swimming and he was battling to focus. Tyson's fingers were carefully unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his chest and there was a distant noise of approval. Rusty couldn't work out who was making it. He was only sure that it wasn't him.

The bottle was pulled away from his mouth and Marmalade was there, up close and in his face, inspecting him. He shied away and screwed up his eyes.

"OK, OK," Marmalade murmured. "Get off him, Ty."

The weight disappeared and Clive must have moved too. Might have moved. He couldn't tell. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't…

"Perfect," he heard Marmalade say. "Come on, Clive. Let's set up the room."

* * *

They stepped away from the couch and she watched as Rusty tried to summon the strength to move and failed. Good. Still conscious but not even close to being able to fight back.

"Perfect. Come on, Clive. Let's set up the room."

The cameras were full of film and ready to go. Clive trained them onto the bed and adjusted the lighting.

"We won't have long," he warned. "He's going to be out of it any time now."

"Yeah. And I like things a little livelier." Tyson had padded in after them.

"It'll be fine," Marmalade reassured them. "You got a story?"

Clive thought for a moment. "We strip him off, put him under the sheet, Ty comes in… We still got that ski-mask somewhere?"

"Somewhere," Marmalade nodded, ignoring the scowl from Ty.

"You're breaking and entering," Clive told him, warming to his theme. "You see him, you want him, you strip off and you fuck him. Keep the ski-mask on."

"Aw, fuck it, Clive, no…" Ty complained. "That thing itches like fuck."

"No, I like it," Marmalade overruled. "You go slow and gentle and it'll be like he's half-awake and half-dreaming. Clive, make sure we get plenty of moans on camera. Like he doesn't want to wake up and find out it's not happening. And get close-ups of that face of his while he's still conscious. We can cut them in later. "

"OK. Let's get him in here," Clive said.

They went back to the living area. Which was minus one Rusty. Marmalade stared at the open front door.

"Fuck," she said with feeling. "After him."

* * *

It had been the hardest thing in the world to get up and out of there but somewhere at the back of his mind was another occasion where there'd been a choice that had been no choice and that had lent him strength.

Outside. Outside and the cold December air shocked him back into life, clearing his head a little and giving him something else to think about. Clutching his shirt and jacket around him, he stumbled away and down the stairs, keeping his balance with difficulty.

Away. That was the only thought in his head.

"Hey!"

Marmalade.

"Hey! Come back!"

Not a chance. Not a fucking hope.

His feet led him into an alley, a cut through, and it was pure adrenaline holding him up now. He wanted to throw up but he didn't dare stop.

"Rusty!"

Closer. He wished he'd brought the knife with him. The knife that was at the bottom of the holdall back at Mama Liz's.

Mama Liz's. They knew where he was staying. _Fuck_.

"Rusty!"

Closer? Further away? Shit, he couldn't tell. The walls of the alley suddenly ran out and Rusty stumbled forward on to the sidewalk.

Up. He had to get _up._ Heart racing, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet.

Bright lights hit his face. He was on a main street.

_Rusty_. He heard his name and he couldn't be sure if it was his imagination. He couldn't take the chance that it was his imagination.

No passers-by. No one around. No one to make Marmalade think twice.

His fingers clutched metal and eyes closed, he hung on desperately, trying to keep upright.

There was a hiss – _mechanical, metal squeaking, the smell of gasoline –_ and Rusty opened his eyes.

Bus.

Doors open.

Waiting.

Rusty swallowed hard.

"You getting on, son, or what?"

He was getting on. He so was. He staggered up the steps of the bus.

"Jesus," the driver muttered, staring at him as if he regretted stopping. "You've had a skinful. You'd better have the fare or you can get straight back off again."

Money.

Rusty fished inside his jacket for his wallet and pulled a handful of cash out, thrusting it at the man.

"All the way?" asked the driver, still looking at him dubiously.

"Yeah."

He didn't care what part of L.A. he ended up in. Destination didn't matter. Getting the hell out of there did.

The driver helped himself to notes and finally, blessedly, the doors closed and the bus rumbled away. Rusty stuffed his wallet away and then lurched down the aisle, finding an empty seat near the back. He rested his head against the cold glass window and watched the opening of the alleyway fade into the distance.

Safe. He was safe.

He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes.

* * *

Rusty had disappeared. The surefire ticket to Jolson's cash had disappeared. The three of them had split up and she'd scoured the block but she couldn't find him. Marmalade scowled all the way back to the flat and the scowl deepened when she turned to see Ty and Clive climb the stairs behind her empty-handed too.

Terrific.

And what a fucking waste of good whisky.

She pushed the door open and found a sulky looking Stefan sitting on the couch, drinking an abandoned glass of whisky. Stefan brandished the clipboard at her.

"I go away for a couple of days and you're replacing me?"

Marmalade smiled. Maybe it wasn't going to be a wasted evening after all.

* * *

The phone broke into Carter's dreamless sleep and blinking, he answered it.

"Saul?" Suddenly, he was wide awake. "You OK?"

He listened.

"Right. I'm on my way."

* * *

**Day Twenty-two**

_Back at MacAvoy's and he'd walked into the bedroom to find Ty waiting._

"_You and me are going to have a _good _time."_

_He'd turned to run but Peterson was standing in the doorway with a pair of handcuffs and somehow he was lying face down on the bed with the counterpane with the roses and Marmalade had him by the wrists._

"Hey!"

_There was a whirring noise and Clive was there with a camera._

"Hey!" Insistent. Like it hadn't been the first attempt at gaining his attention.

"_Soon be over," Marmalade beamed._

"Hey!" Louder and reeking of impatience. "End of the line, son."

Muzzily, Rusty opened his eyes and the world swam and almost immediately he closed them again. Hangover from hell.

"Come on, son. You've been snoring the bus down for the past seven hours. I want to get some rest too."

Hands were pulling him unresisting up out of the seat and helping to propel him down the aisle and out of the bus. His head was throbbing and he still felt drunk but only two words were registering with Rusty. He grabbed hold of the bus driver's arm.

"Seven hours?"

"_Yes_, seven hours." The bus driver pushed him away. "Now do us all a favour and go sleep it off somewhere else."

Rusty walked unsteadily away from the bus into unfamiliarity, staring around, bewildered, at darkness and bright lights, looking for a clue. Where the _hell_…?

"You lost, bro?"

A deep voice, full of curiosity. Rusty turned on his heel towards it but all he could see were shadows. Instinct screamed at him to turn and run but his body wasn't co-operating. How much fucking whisky had they forced down him?

"Do you know where you're going to?" Another male voice that giggled in the way that Marvin had when he was high and Rusty's scalp crawled.

They stepped out of the darkness and Rusty blinked back the fuzziness in his head to count four, no, _five _of them surrounding him. His hands balled into fists.

"New boy in town. We want to make you feel welcome," said Deep Voice.

"I like that jacket you wearing," one of them said.

"And I dig that watch," added another.

Deep Voice grinned. "Hope your momma told you it's nice to share."

* * *

Rusty's eyes fluttered open.

It was light.

It was cold.

Morning.

A deserted sidestreet.

He was lying in a large puddle and it wasn't rainwater.

His jacket was gone.

So was his wallet.

So was his watch.

Fuck…

_They'd worked him over. Punches, burying themselves into his gut and when he was down on the ground, there'd been a rain of kicks and he curled into a ball, protecting himself as best he could. _

_A siren. _

_A siren and they'd run. _

_They'd run._

_And darkness had wrapped around him._

Wincing, Rusty sat up straight, his breath blowing out in little clouds and looked down at himself. He was a mess. Dirt and blood and his shirt was ripped and hanging open around him and like the rest of his clothes, was soaked through with…Rusty's nose wrinkled.

Fuck.

At least it wasn't raining.

* * *

A/N: I think that if there was a secondary title for this chapter, it would be "Frying Pan and Fire".


	31. A Simple Plan Part Eight

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: ils ne sont pas les miens.

Chapter Thirty-one: A Simple Plan Part Eight

* * *

**(Still) Day Twenty-two**

With an effort, Rusty made his way down the side street. No chance of hiding the blood and the marks and he gritted his teeth at the thought of the stares. It took him back to a time when he'd tried so hard to hide himself. If he was lucky, it was early enough for there not to be too many people around.

He rounded the corner on to the main street. Right. Priorities. He needed to clean himself up and he needed to find a change of clothes. Well, he wasn't going to be able to lift a shirt looking like this…he wasn't sure he could lift a _wallet_ but he was going to have to try because no one was going to walk up to him and-

"Here!"

A black T-shirt was thrust into his startled hands.

"And here's a voucher – it's the grand opening today and the first hundred customers get a free burger! It's just round the block."

Seemingly unconcerned by the state of him, the girl walked on with her basket of T-shirts, pushing them on unsuspecting passers-by. Rusty unfurled the T-shirt with the slogan _"Hungry Groundhog! Newest Diner in Town!" _

Which town?

Ignoring his suddenly grumbling stomach, Rusty checked the address on the voucher.

Well, what did you know…

* * *

Rusty stood in the restroom at the Hungry Groundhog, staring at the mirror and studied the damage. Nothing much on his face, just a couple of small cuts where a ring had caught him and his jaw was tender where a couple of punches had landed. They'd got him down on the ground quick enough. He stared at his torso and then twisted round to look at his back. Yeah. Things were going to get colourful.

He cleaned himself up with paper towels and shrugged on the T. His arms were marked – _boots and kicks and he'd pulled his arms around his head to protect himself - _ but at the moment he could get away with it. His jeans were still damp but there wasn't much he could do about that except live with the discomfort. His holdall was back at Mama Liz's and he reckoned he could probably kiss that goodbye. He sighed. Everything was slipping _away_.

He wandered back through to the restaurant and claimed his free burger with a smile that brought him a free Coke too.

Sitting down near the door with his meal, Rusty bit into the burger, chewing slowly, savouring each bite because this was to be relished, catching every drop of sauce and mayonnaise that fell-

He stopped in mid-bite, realising. Huh. This was exactly how he used to eat. When money was hard-earned and hot meals weren't everyday. Before Saul. Before Annie. Before life had really begun.

His mouth tightened. Well, he wasn't fifteen. He might have been on the streets last night, he might have no money in his pocket and he might not be certain when lunch was happening but he was not fifteen. Things were different this time around.

For one thing, he had money in the bank: all he needed to do was get hold of it.

* * *

"Stevie's on his way and Rod'll be here by this evening," Carter said, stirring sugar into his coffee as he and Saul sat at in the airport café. "Scott's sending some bodies too."

He looked across the table at Saul, at the weariness and the frustration and the worry, and gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Scott told me about Denver. Sorry it wasn't better news. But it sounds like you got a great lead through Bobby."

He meant it to sound encouraging but Saul sighed.

"Thing is, I could be missing him by days. By hours. By minutes." The yearning in Saul's voice was painful to hear. "He could be in the places I've already searched." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Suppose I never find him."

"Hey," Carter reached across the table and squeezed Saul's arm. "Enough of that."

"It's true though," Saul insisted. "And I can't carry on expecting Bobby and you and everyone to focus on this. You've all got lives too."

"Saul," Carter said firmly and Saul blinked at him. "He matters to you then he matters to us." His tone softened. "Even if I hadn't met him, I'd understand why you were looking for him."

Saul gave a tired smile and nodded his thanks.

"Now. Romero." Carter became all business. "You're sure about this? Because even if we do it, there are no guarantees."

"No," Saul agreed. "I know. Romero's to San Francisco like you are to Detroit and I know that's where the similarity ends. But if we don't do it…"

Carter nodded. If they didn't do it then they had no chance at all.

"So, what's first? Recce?"

"Recce. Let's see what we're up against."

* * *

There was a long line at the bank. Other places and there might have been a few raised eyebrows and a couple of low mutters at the jeans and the T-shirt but this was Vegas: two in front of him stood Elvis.

Ignoring the ache in his bones, Rusty waited his turn until he was at the counter and standing in front of the middle-aged bank clerk whose name badge declared her to be "Joy". Joy didn't look very joyful. In fact, she already looked bored and it wasn't even mid-morning.

"Good morning, ma'am," Rusty began respectfully. Respect had to be the right approach. "I have an account and I'd like to withdraw some funds-"

"You have your bank card?" Joy interrupted and the boredom filtered through into her voice.

"No," Rusty admitted. "No, my wallet was stolen-"

"So you're reporting your card stolen."

If he had to. "Yes-"

"Here. Fill this form in."

Rusty opened his mouth and closed it again. Form. Right. Memories of the form last night floated through his head and he gripped the pen in his hand tightly as he wrote. Marmalade and Clive and Tyson. And so _nearly… _He shook the thought away and concentrated on the details. Good job he remembered numbers easily enough.

He hesitated over the address. Maybe he should leave it blank. Wasn't like he had a new home. In fact, he ought to look for somewhere to use as a permanent postal address. Then again, if he left it blank, Joy might not believe him. In the end, he scribbled down Saul and Annie's.

Joy took the form from him with barely a glance and a lot of indifference and laid it on top of an in-tray.

"Now. You wanted to take some money out. You got any ID?"

"No. No, my wallet was _stolen_-"

"Bank statement, household bill, driving permit, anything with your name and address on it."

Rusty shook his head. "No."

Joy looked at him doubtfully. "Well, I can't…"

"Look," Rusty said with urgency. "I can tell you all the account details you need. Just ask me."

She stared at him for a long moment and then said firmly, "You need ID."

Impasse.

"Please," Rusty tried again, "I can tell you when the account was opened, what the balance is, when I last withdrew some money – anything. Please."

Joy sucked her teeth, took the form and punched in the account number. She glanced at her screen. "Name?"

"Robert Charles Ryan." He'd put it on the form. This shouldn't be news.

"Date of birth?"

"4th of February 1963," Rusty replied promptly.

Joy ran her eyes over the form. "Mmm…"

Mmm? That was all he got? Rusty's lips tightened and he forced himself to stay calm. Shouting wasn't going to help matters.

"So, ma'am," he smiled a bright smile – the sort that earned him free Coke – "are you able to help me here?"

"Yes," Joy nodded, apparently making her mind up and Rusty breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll put the account on immediate hold."

He waited but nothing more was forthcoming.

"Ma'am, what about my money?"

"You can't _withdraw _anything," Joy said as if explaining to an idiot. "You need ID."

* * *

The driving permit people weren't any more helpful.

"You can report your permit stolen and for a small admin fee, a new one will be sent to your place of residence."

Saul and Annie's. Rusty bit his lip.

"I don't live there anymore," he said softly.

"I see," the man said with complete lack of interest. "Do you have proof of your new address?"

"I don't have a new address," Rusty explained and earned himself a quizzical look and pursed lips.

"Do you have other identification? A bank card, a birth certificate…?"

"No-"

"You need _some_thing," the man shrugged.

ID. Right.

* * *

Disconsolately, Rusty walked along the sidewalk, uncertain of his next steps. ID at some point, somehow but he still ached from the kicks and the punches. Ideally, what he'd like to do right about now was sink into a bath. A nice hot bath of purple bubbles followed by strawberry milkshake, maybe, and apple crumble with cream curled up on the couch watching TV with… or playing cards with… He stopped and leaned up against a wall, his eyes closed. Not happening. Not _happening_.

Taking a determined breath, he opened his eyes and went to walk on but something was stuck under his foot. He bent down and pulled the piece of paper free.

"_Hungry Groundhog! Newest Diner in Town!"_

Huh. He must have retraced his steps without realising it. Well, that was lunch taken care of.

* * *

Lunchtime and it looked like lots of people were supporting the new diner. Rusty was the only one, apart from the staff, wearing the T-shirt though. The diner didn't seem to be scrupulously counting the hundred free burgers. Given the piled high trays it didn't seem like they needed to.

There were few seats available but he found a space at a table with a woman and a little girl, about five or six years old for a guess.

"Do you mind?" he asked awkwardly.

The woman smiled up at him. She looked mid to late twenties, friendly and welcoming.

"No problem."

"Hello," said the little girl as he sat down. "My name's Rachel."

She was obviously expecting a response.

"Rachel!" The woman scolded. "Don't bother the gentleman."

"S'fine," Rusty said, the smile creeping on to his face. "I'm Rusty."

Rachel beamed. "This is my mommy. Her real name is Jo-Jo."

"Rachel!" her mother exclaimed with exasperation. "I'm sure the gentleman-"

"Rusty," her daughter corrected.

"I'm sure _Rusty_ would just like to eat his burger in peace. Isn't that right?" she appealed to Rusty.

He hesitated. On the one hand, he felt he ought to back up Jo-Jo but on the other, he didn't want Rachel to feel she was a nuisance.

"I think what your mom's trying to say is not to talk to strangers," he said gently. Rachel's face fell. Rusty glanced at Jo-Jo. "But it's really OK. She's not a bother."

"You're nice," Rachel declared then scrunched up her nose. "But you smell funny."

"Rachel!"

"Well, he _does. _And what happened to your arms? Did you fall over?"

"I ended up face down on the concrete," Rusty said truthfully. "And lying in something nasty. Sorry," he added apologetically to both of them.

"You should change your clothes," Rachel told him. "Shouldn't he, Mom?"

Jo-Jo gave him a look that was dangerously close to sympathy for Rusty's liking.

"S'next on my list," Rusty assured Rachel. "Right after lunch."

* * *

Stretched out full-length on the grass, Saul stared through the binoculars at the building in the valley beneath them. Barred windows. Less a house and more a fortress.

"Mistake," Carter murmured, stretched out beside him. "Should be on a hill. Easier to defend."

Saul turned his head to look at him. "That really going to make a difference? I mean does it look like it's _difficult _to defend?"

Carter shrugged. "I'm trying to find the positive in this."

Yeah. Positive was in short supply.

"I count four men on the outside," Carter said, looking through his own set of binoculars. "All armed. Probably more on the inside."

"What do you reckon?" Saul asked him.

Carter put the binoculars down and looked at him thoughtfully. "Let's keep it simple. We need a 4th of July, a Mission Impossible, few Penguin Umbrellas…"

Saul nodded grimly. Simple. Not easy.

* * *

The burger didn't take long to eat and Rusty said goodbye to Jo-Jo and Rachel, getting to his feet and heading towards the exit.

"Hey, shit-for-brains!"

Rusty glanced at the loudmouth in a hurry sat by the window who, judging by the plates in front of him, had eaten considerably more than a free burger.

"Yes, _you!"_

Rusty blinked. He had no idea what he'd done to annoy the man but he was going to keep a wary distance.

The man brandished money impatiently in his direction. "Jeez, where did they hire you guys? Do you want paying or don't you?"

Money.

Rusty moved forward and his fingers closed round it.

"Of course, sir. Apologies, sir. Let me take care of that for you."

* * *

Outside the diner and December in Vegas was at least warmer than other cities. If he'd had his jacket, he wouldn't even have noticed the chill of the shadows. His jacket. Rusty sighed. Gone like the car. Three weeks and there was nearly nothing left to show for just over a year of happiness. Nothing except the memories of warmth and safety and l…

He shook himself. No time for regrets.

He had twenty dollars from Loudmouth. And another five dollars tip that he'd picked up from another table. He didn't have anything against the Hungry Groundhog and its staff but right now, his need was greater.

There was a clothing store opposite the diner and the cash bought him new jeans and a long sleeved shirt to wear over the top of the T to hide the bruising that would be emerging soon enough.

The money had bought him clothes. And he'd eaten lunch. He should pick up another Hungry Groundhog voucher, give it a couple of hours and come back again. See if he could charm another burger even though they would surely be past the hundred customer mark. There were plenty of leaflets dropped on the sidewalk further up from the diner.

Rusty crossed the street and scooped up a couple. He didn't have any problem with three burgers a day. OK. The next obvious thing was to find somewhere to sleep-

"Rusty!"

Rachel's voice cut across his thoughts and he looked up automatically. Jo-Jo and her daughter had come out of the diner and Rachel was waving madly while Jo-Jo's face wore an apologetic grimace.

It was as if time stood still.

He was still looking at Jo-Jo and Rachel and smiling back and then the smile fell away because there was a man moving with purpose behind Jo-Jo. Breaking into a run. Pushing past Jo-Jo and knocking Rachel over. Tearing the purse from Jo-Jo's shoulder.

"Hey!" Jo-Jo shouted reflexively and then her attention was on Rachel, sitting shocked on the sidewalk.

The man ran past Rusty and Rusty didn't think twice. He made a grab for the man and his fingers closed around the purse strap but the man twisted and jerked the purse free, some of the contents spilling to the ground, before taking off again.

Rusty gave chase, adrenaline flooding through him. The man was quick and lithe and somehow reminded him of Marvin. This was the kind of stunt Marvin would pull if he was desperate. If it had been a while since his last hit.

The man dived sharply off the main street. Rusty grimaced and followed. He didn't know the geography of this town and he had to think that the man he was pursuing probably did. Marvin would have, after all.

A narrower street and he was certain he was gaining. Then a blind corner that he'd rounded before he'd realised and an almighty blow to the back of the head. Rusty collapsed, poleaxed and his last thought before the darkness came was that the man really wasn't Marvin.

* * *

"I'm _fine, _Mom." Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Hold still and let me check."

"You've checked three times," Rachel pointed out.

"Then a fourth time shouldn't come as a surprise," Jo-Jo retorted.

Rachel gave in with good grace and Jo-Jo finally satisfied herself that her daughter was alright. She glanced around. A few passers-by standing and staring.

"Here, my dear," an older lady said kindly. "These came out of your purse."

Jo-Jo looked down at the proffered doorkeys, the compact mirror and the lipstick.

"Thanks."

She pocketed them and frowned up the street where the thief and Rusty had disappeared some minutes earlier. There was no sign of Rusty returning and somehow she thought he would even if he hadn't got her purse back. Suppose he'd caught up with the guy and got punched for his troubles. Or worse.

Jo-Jo wouldn't call herself brave and she wouldn't call herself foolish and there was Rachel to consider but…

"C'mon, honey," Jo-Jo said. "Let's go for a little walk."

A little walk. And at the first sign of trouble, they would turn and run.

* * *

Saul glanced round his hotel room and thought that if he had to undertake a mission of crazy, it was comforting to have Carter and Scott on his side.

Scott had sent four men who looked calm and capable and everything Saul would want by way of back up. They were at the side of the room talking in low tones to Stevie. Probably comparing notes on whom they knew and past cons. Bit of scene-setting and background to break the ice. Rod was due in a couple of hours: there were fewer questions from authorities when munitions were transported by car.

"When's the meeting again?" Carter checked.

"Eight o'clock at the restaurant," Saul confirmed, looking down at the small bag of priceless diamonds that Stevie had brought with him. He knew his mission. Bait the line and reel the man in.

Carter looked at him hard. "Don't let me be the one to make Annie cry. Be careful."

Saul nodded. Failure really was not an option.

* * *

The streets were somehow darker even though it was probably another hour before darkness properly arrived. Jo-Jo clutched Rachel's hand and had just about decided to turn and head back to the bright lights when Rachel let out an exclamation.

"S'Rusty!"

It was. Slumped up against the wall and not moving and Jo-Jo stared at him, horrified. Rachel started to drag her closer and Jo-Jo reacted automatically, pulling her back and behind her.

"Mom-"

"Stay behind me, Rachel." No arguing.

Cautiously, Jo-Jo moved forward and placed a hand that was slightly shaking against Rusty's cheek. Still warm. Thank God. Rusty stirred at her touch and let out a low moan.

"Oh, thank the Lord," Jo-Jo muttered. "Rusty? Can you hear me?"

Slowly, Rusty squinted up at her, eyes full of incomprehension.

"It's me, Jo-Jo."

He stared for a long moment and then nodded. "Jo-Jo. Hit my head."

His eyes closed and Jo-Jo gave a silent curse. Gingerly, she ran her hand over the back of his head. There was a nasty lump but no blood.

"Rusty, we need to get you out of here. My place isn't far. Can you stand?" She shook his shoulder. "Can you stand?"

It was an effort but she got him to his feet, helping support his weight even though he was a good few inches taller. And then with Rachel on the left side of him, the three of them made their way carefully back to sunshine.

* * *

Groggily, Rusty opened his eyes and saw lumps of orange floating in pink. Oh, that wasn't right. He screwed them shut again with an inarticulate noise of pain.

"Mom! He's awake!"

A high-pitched squeal cut through him and he forced himself to open his eyes again and this time to focus properly. He was lying with a blanket over him on a battered leather couch in some front room and the orange and pink resolved itself into a lava lamp.

His head ached possibly worse than it had this morning. There was a coolness on the back of his head and his fingers found a towel and ice and wet hair. Sitting on a beanbag on the floor and clutching his other hand tightly was Rachel.

"Hey," Rusty said weakly and she grinned at him.

"How are you feeling? Do you feel better? Because Mom and I found you and you'd hurt your head and you couldn't walk that well and we got you back here and you've been sleeping on the couch since for_ever." _

Rachel held up a wet flannel.

"I've been looking after you," she said proudly. "I've put the flannel on your forehead and here's a bowl in case you want to be sick. _Do_ you want to be sick?"

The last was said quite hopefully and he chuckled in spite of himself.

"Not right now. Maybe later."

There was a swishing wooden sound that his brain couldn't compute and then Jo-Jo was stood in front of him.

"You're awake!" she said with equal amounts of delight and relief. "I've had a cold compress on the back of your head for a couple of hours now but to be honest, I really did think I was going to have to call a doctor."

That made him sit up.

"No doctors," Rusty said hoarsely, ignoring the nausea that the sudden movement had brought on.

Jo-Jo nodded sympathetically. "I know. That's what you said the last couple of times I suggested it."

"The last couple of times?" He didn't remember the conversation and that was…that was a sure sign something was wrong.

"On the way back here. And you came to for a moment an hour or so ago."

"I couldn't catch him," Rusty remembered. "He hit me. Your purse – Oh, Jo-Jo-"

"Not your fault," she told him, cutting off the apology. "I'm just sad you ended up getting whacked for your troubles."

She glanced down at Rachel. "Why don't you go and find Rusty a nice glass of water, honey?"

Her face showing how proud she was to have a mission, Rachel disappeared through beaded curtains into presumably the kitchen. Jo-Jo sat down beside Rusty on the couch and reapplied the cold compress.

"S'OK, Rusty," she said. "I know doctors cost."

He shuddered.

"Sorry," Jo-Jo grimaced. "But it's really the best way to bring down the swelling. I've got some painkillers-"

"No," Rusty said definitely. No drugs. He still remembered how out of it he'd felt with all the whisky in his system.

"They'd help-"

"No!" he said and the word came out loud and fierce and Jo-Jo flinched.

"Sorry," he apologised, softly. "I'm OK. Thanks.

Rachel reappeared, carefully carrying a glass of water that had been filled to the brim.

"Thanks," Rusty said to both of them as he took the glass. He drank the water and it was cold and heavenly and when Jo-Jo pulled the glass away before he'd finished, he looked at her with reproach.

"Steady. You'll be ill," she warned and he nodded his understanding. "Now. Rest up," Jo-Jo instructed, getting to her feet.

"I'm better," he said. "I should be on my way."

He made to stand up and his legs gave way on him.

"Rest up," Jo-Jo repeated firmly. "You're fine on this couch."

His body wasn't letting him argue. Obediently, Rusty lay back down and closed his eyes, feeling Jo-Jo press the towel and ice to his head and Rachel pull the blanket over him.

He felt safe and cared for and it made him want to cry.

* * *

Saul sat across the table and his manner offered up courtesy, humility and respect as he watched the diamonds pawed over.

"They're top quality, Mr Romero," Saul murmured and was rewarded with a flash of the gold in the man's mouth.

"They surely are." Fingers ran over the stones once more and then there was a shrewd look directed at Saul. "You want what exactly for these?"

"Information. I'm looking for someone."

"They owe you money? You planning on killing them?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Saul shook his head.

"Think you _would_ say that." Pointed out pleasantly.

"Nothing like that, Mr Romero," Saul insisted politely. "A relative of mine. I'm trying to find him."

Eyes dropped down to the sparkling stones on the table thoughtfully.

"Of course," Saul said hurriedly, "I understand that these jewels are just the price for your attention, for the opportunity to meet with you. I do understand that for the information itself, you want something more-"

"Damn right!"

"-and I have something more to offer, something valuable, I can't tell you what but…" Saul glanced around the restaurant, "I can't bring it here. We need somewhere more private."

Saul felt the keen eyes trying to read the truth in his face.

"You haven't gotten it yet." The smile was wide and Saul did his best to hold up under the gaze. "But you're _going _to..."

"That's right."

"That _is_ right," and the intimidation rolled across the table in Saul's direction. "When will you have it?"

"By tomorrow," Saul promised. "We could meet tomorrow evening, maybe? But nowhere public. You got a house or something? Somewhere secure."

Dark eyes grew wary. He looked hard at Saul as if weighing up a threat and Saul did his best to make himself seem as insignificant as possible: then he trailed his fingers through the diamonds and appeared to make his mind up.

"Tomorrow night." An address was scribbled down on a piece of paper. "Find your way here for 7.30. And you come alone."

* * *

"…it's OK. He's really nice. He helped us."

"Sure he did."

His head still aching, Rusty woke up to hear low voices. Jo-Jo and another woman. Warily, he lay still with his eyes closed and listened.

"He _did,_ Rae. Some goon snatched my purse and Rusty chased after him. That's how he ended up hurt."

"That's how he ended up _here. _ You a soft touch, girl._"_

Jo-Jo sighed. "It's not like that, Rae. He was hurt bad. I couldn't just leave him on the street."

There was a pause and Rusty could _feel _Rae's gaze on him.

"He do look cute. You just taken his shoes off? You not want to undress him further?"

"Rae!" Shocked.

"I just teasing. He new in town?"

"I reckon…" Jo-Jo said thoughtfully. "He's too young to be playing the tables…guess he came to see the bright lights."

"They always do," Rae agreed solemnly. "Still, you can't keep him in the house, girl, not with Rachel around, ay? And this is your night off but what you gonna do when you need to go out to work? He can't stay here."

"No, no…" Jo-Jo sounded reluctant. "I suppose so. I just want to help him."

"Hey!" said Rae, brightly. "You think I should tell Artie about him? Maybe he could find some work for him."

"You think?" Jo-Jo said uncertainly.

"Oh, sure. Some work at the hotel, maybe. Get on the right side of Artie and it's silk sheets-"

"-and champagne all the way?" Jo-Jo finished with a smile in her voice.

"He looks after his people, alright," Rae said and it was said like a fact and Rusty bit deep and hard into his lip to stop the scream._  
_

* * *

Rod had arrived at the hotel room by the time Saul got back and so had room service.

"You hungry, Saul?" Rod asked, holding out a plate of fried chicken.

"Thanks," Saul said, taking a piece.

He must have looked more exhausted or more desperate than he thought because Rod's expression grew soft and reassuring.

"We'll find him, Saul."

Saul gave him a flicker of a smile. "Thanks," he said again and meant it.

* * *

Rusty'd had to wait till Jo-Jo and Rae had gone through into the kitchen then he'd sat up carefully and put on his shoes. There was no sign of Rachel and Rusty guessed she was tucked up in bed. God knew how long he'd slept.

Even without the threat of Artie coming to call for him, Rusty didn't want to outstay his welcome. Didn't want to put Jo-Jo in an awkward position. His head still hurt abominably but he could manage that.

He slipped quietly out of the house and tried to orient himself. It was dark outside and it was chilly and he seemed to be in a residential area, none-too-brightly lit. He needed lights. He needed to hide himself in the noise and the people till he'd recovered. Till he'd come up with a plan.

Spotlights arced up suddenly into the sky in the distance, dancing through the night. It was a fair bet that was something to do with the Strip. He started walking towards them.


	32. A Simple Plan Part Nine

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: no Ocean's character belongs to me.

A/N: my son informs me that there are a lot of "A Simple Plan" chapters. otherhawk says he is quite correct. I don't _think_ it was a complaint… This still feels like the longest chapter arc evah.

Chapter Thirty-two: A Simple Plan Part Nine

* * *

**Day Twenty-three**

Annie hadn't slept well. Didn't feel like she'd slept well since Rusty had left. Her dreams had been vague and troubled and when she woke, she mostly remembered the feeling of loss.

Now she was dressed and downstairs and making herself coffee and toast and trying not to think too hard about the phone call with Saul last night. He'd sounded like he was doing his very best to reassure her that he was not getting into trouble.

"_You are being careful," she'd asked._

"_Of course," he'd replied. "Always, Annie."_

Always. Annie gave a weary smile to herself. If only that were true. She opened up the refrigerator to find there was no bread. There was nothing of anything much. Food didn't seem all that important when it was just her.

There was a knock on the front door and she frowned. It couldn't be Lucy. Lucy would have gone back to Denver by now and Annie was sad that she hadn't had a chance to say goodbye. Annie thought maybe she should write or telephone but she hadn't found the focus to do so.

She opened up the front door and saw Millicent smiling at her. For one heady moment, Annie wanted to grab her by the shoulders and scream in her face that this was all her fault, that if it hadn't been for Millicent, Saul wouldn't be off somewhere being careful and Rusty would be home right now where he belonged. The moment passed.

"Good morning, Annie," Millicent said. "Not too early for visitors, I hope? But then," she added stepping into the hallway, "I guess I stopped being a visitor an age ago."

"Mrs Bloom? Mrs Bloom!"

The mailman was hurrying up the garden path towards her, waving a letter.

"Thank you, Jim," Annie said, taking the letter with a smile that she didn't feel.

"For the youngster," Jim nodded. "Looks official."

Annie stared at the envelope with Rusty's name on it.

"I'll make sure he gets it," she muttered as if in a dream. "Thanks, Jim."

She pushed the door to and then remembered Millicent.

"It _does_ look official," Millicent agreed, sharp little eyes all over the envelope.

Annie's fingers tightened on the letter, holding on to it as if it were Rusty himself.

"Let's go through to the kitchen, Millicent. I'm sure you'd like a coffee."

* * *

Rusty's head ached. He was sitting in a diner – had, in fact, been sat for a couple of hours now, nursing a long-since flat soda and the headache. The diner wasn't busy and Rusty seemed to have hit a shift change and he didn't think the new crew had even seen him, tucked away in the back booth.

Which was good because Loudmouth's money from yesterday was down to the nickels and dimes and there was a limit to the number of sodas he was going to be able to order.

He felt like he wanted to pass out. As if the events of the past 36 hours or so had caught up with him in one big hit. The whisky, the flight, the fight. The chase and the hit to the head and leaving Jo-Jo's and the long, careful walk through dark streets to somewhere safe. Seemed like he had been running on adrenaline and now he was down to the fumes. If he'd trusted his surroundings, right about now would be when he grabbed some sleep.

His thoughts drifted back to Jo-Jo and Rachel and to the feeling of being cared for and looked after and suddenly he was back at Saul and Annie's, back home where there'd been love and lots of it, shown in a hundred different ways, where there'd been kindness and unconditional and Rusty _wanted_.

Useless tears pricked his eyes and he blinked them back. Tired. That's what it was. If he could just doze for a couple of minutes…

"Jeez! You scared the life outta me!" His eyes flew open to see a waitress staring at him. "How long have you been there?

* * *

Carter had led them all through the plan and as Saul listened, he also watched Carter's audience. Rod and Stevie were nodding as the big picture revealed itself. Scott's men whose names, startlingly, were John, Paul, George and Keith, were also paying attention. Professional, Saul noted approvingly. Nothing less than Saul would expect from someone Scott recommended.

"It's all in the timing," Carter said in closing. "Let's make it happen."

* * *

Millicent's ostensible reason for visiting was to make sure that all was OK following the visit from the FBI. Annie was certain that it was more about reminding her that she had Peterson's number.

"Such a nasty shock. The authorities on your doorstep. You're sure you're alright, Annie dear?" Millicent asked solicitously, making herself comfortable at the kitchen table.

"I'm fine," Annie replied, her voice even.

Millicent studied her with a critical eye. "You look rather pale and drawn, if you don't mind me saying so."

Annie wanted to point out that she would have said it even if Annie had minded. Instead, she tied an apron around her waist and slipped the letter into the pocket for safekeeping. Somehow she wouldn't put it past Millicent to appropriate it.

"No Saul? No Robert?" Millicent remarked.

"They're out of town," Annie said shortly, busying herself filling the kettle.

"Really? Still?" Millicent's tone sharpened. "They'll be back for Christmas, though, right? It's only a few days away."

Annie was glad that her back was to Millicent. She was glad that Millicent couldn't see her face crumple. That Millicent couldn't see the ache and the agony, alive and razorsharp.

She took a breath and turned round and smiled and her expression was tightly polite and she had pushed the pain away so that it was no longer visible.

"Of course," Annie replied and she was pleased with how calm her voice sounded. "Coffee or tea?"

* * *

After he'd been spotted, there wasn't much chance of staying beneath the waitress's radar. Rusty had drunk up and headed out and happened across the cinema showing both Godfathers. That had to be at least five hours of sitting down in the dark and the dry. Rusty could remember other times when that had been a prize worth having.

Without the evening crowds, there was no chance of slipping in without paying. Reluctantly, Rusty handed over the last of the money. Right now, the thought of resting up outweighed anything else. He could always find more money.

He found a place at the side of the half-empty cinema, leaning his head against the cool wall and as the lights dimmed, he closed his eyes and let sleep overwhelm him.

* * *

Millicent had left eventually and Annie had let out a breath of deep relief. There had been a few more digs, a few more reminders about not being late for Christmas lunch and she'd weathered them and hoped that if Millicent scented anything wrong, it would be all about discomfort at the thought of the upcoming meal.

Millicent had left and Annie pulled the envelope out of her apron pocket and frowned at it. It couldn't be from the FBI. Could it? She hesitated for a long moment and then with trembling fingers, she broke the seal and pulled out the letter.

From the bank. Acknowledging that Rusty's card had been stolen. Explaining that another one would be sent out to him over the next few days.

"Oh, Rusty," she breathed.

Frantically she scanned the single page looking for clues as to where he was. Nothing. Standard letterhead with a head office address. No postmark either because it had been franked.

Saul would know what to do. She checked her watch and started counting the hours till six o'clock.

* * *

Saul was also on countdown. Stevie was keeping him company, Rod was in position and Carter and Scott's men were committed. With any luck, come eight o'clock tonight, Romero would be in the mood to help them.

* * *

Sleeping in the cinema had proved more tricky than Rusty had imagined. At best, it could be described as fitful dozing and what worried him most was that when he came to, there had obviously been people sitting nearby him. Sitting only a couple of seats away, judging by the popcorn on the floor and the abandoned Coke cups. Rusty hated the thought that there'd been so close and he hadn't known about it. Just showed how dull his senses were right now.

His mouth was suddenly dry beyond belief. He'd picked up a cup of drink that was still half-full and sniffed it carefully. Smelt OK. Gingerly, he took a sip of flat, sweet and warm and suddenly he was draining the cup.

He leaned back in the chair, his head against the wall and watched Sonny give his brother-in-law the hiding of his life. Huh. He'd seen that part before, surely. Movies must be on loop.

Really, he ought to be moving. He ought to be getting out of here and thinking about where he was going to stay for the night. What he was going to do about money and food.

Just a little longer, his body pleaded. Just a little longer.

* * *

Six o'clock and time to phone Annie and Saul had hardly said "Hello" before she launched into the news about the bank card.

Damn. It sounded like a lead that needed following up somehow, like favours that needed to be called in, like a glimpse of Rusty in a crowd.

"Annie, call Bobby. Give him all the information you can."

If anyone was able to work miracles, it was Bobby.

* * *

Rusty jerked awake in the sure and shocking knowledge that there was a hand squeezing his knee.

"Fuck off!" he snarled, swinging a punch that failed to connect.

"Jeez! OK, OK, man!" The hand disappeared. "Sorry to startle you."

Rusty's bleary eyes focused on a nervous smile and spectacles sitting close and trapping him.

"No need to get physical," the man complained. "Just I been watching you, you know. You aren't looking at the movie. Figure you're, you know, looking for something else."

Sly and interested and a tongue darted out and the hand brushed his knee again and Rusty felt his skin start to crawl.

"Get the fuck away from me," he spat.

"Jeez! OK, man, OK!"

The man moved across the aisle and Rusty was up and running out of the theatre, stumbling away from the place that was no longer safe.

Outside, darkness had arrived and so had the neon lights. He had lost hours inside. He only wished he'd lost the headache too.

He needed to work through it. He started walking down the Strip.

* * *

Molly had answered the phone and she'd been sympathetic and kind and Annie had nearly broken down right there and then.

Bobby had been reassuring and comforting and Annie had nearly burst into tears at the help and support.

Then she'd hung up and thought about Rusty being robbed and Rusty not being able to get at his money and Rusty being alone and she'd been sobbing like she wouldn't stop.

* * *

The taxi pulled up outside Romero's and Saul saw the men waiting to meet him.

"Here we go," he murmured.

The men obviously didn't see him as a threat. Their guns were holstered. They looked bored. Talking amongst themselves and chewing gum, they ushered him into the house.

Saul walked into the front room cautiously.

"Good evening, Mr Romero," he said, investing his voice with humility. "It's good to see you again."

* * *

A car. He ought to be thinking about getting another car. A car would give him independence and freedom and he really ought to think about getting another car. Not tonight though. Tonight, he needed somewhere to rest up. Somewhere safe and clean and dry. A hotel or a motel. Somewhere he could sleep properly and then when he woke up, he could think more about the car.

There'd be money enough in the bank for a car. And a room. What he should do, is focus on finding new ID so he could withdraw some funds. But the bank was shut tonight and it was Sunday tomorrow _(he was fairly certain today was Saturday)_ and it would be Monday before he could do anything more at the bank.

It was like some long chain reaction that he couldn't find the start of. Except…

Money. Top of the list of priorities. And here there were casinos bursting with it. Nirvana, chock full of gamblers waiting to see if the roll of the die made them a winner or a loser, all with bulging wallets. All Rusty had to do was get inside. And the only problem with that…

"Sorry, son."

"No underage gambling. NGC would take our licence."

"You've got to be over 21."

"You're over 21? You got ID?"

No. He hadn't. Rusty walked away from the fourth casino and thought dark thoughts about the Nevada Gaming Commission. He was going to have to work the street-

"Hey, kid. Kid!"

He turned on his heel and saw the man in the overcoat in the doorway. Not again. Felt like he had been running from one confrontation to another.

"I can get you ID, kid. If you want it."

Rusty stared at him. Concentrating was difficult.

"C'mere," the man beckoned and warily, Rusty moved closer.

"You can get me ID?"

The man nodded. "Best money can buy."

Well, there was the rub. "How much?"

The man sucked his teeth speculatively. "Fifty bucks to get you in the place. It'll stand up or Santos is not my name."

Presumably Santos _was _his name. Fifty bucks shouldn't be too hard to find. Rusty ran a finger over his mouth thoughtfully.

"I need that but I also need something that's going to hold up to more than a doorman's scrutiny. I need something that can get past a bank, past authorities. You got a figure for that, Santos?"

Santos pursed his lips and Rusty could see he was weighing up how serious he was. Very serious was the answer.

"Maybe…three hundred?" Santos said eventually with more hope than conviction.

"A hundred and fifty," Rusty shot back.

"_Two_ fifty."

"Two hundred."

"Alright. You give me two hundred and I will get you ID good enough to fool your own mother."

"I have to get the money. Where do I find you?"

Santos shrugged. "You can find me here or hereabouts."

Rusty nodded. "I'll be back."

* * *

There was raised noise outside the main room.

"Go see what tha's about," came the instruction. "I want to talk business with the old man here."

One of the bodyguards went to investigate and was back with the news that the taxi had broken down and the taxi driver was asking to make a call.

"A'right. He can use the phone out there." Attention was turned on Saul and the voice became more grasping. "So what you got for me, old man?"

Saul held out the small box and removed the lid, saying a silent prayer as he did so. The man reached in and pulled out one of the small transparent globes and frowned at it.

"What's this? This is valuable? Is it drugs?"

Saul picked up two more of the globes. "In a manner of speaking."

He crushed the globes between his fingers and held his breath. And then with perfect timing, the fireworks began.

* * *

The headache was back with a vengeance. Rusty kept his head low, avoiding the scream of the neon.

There was no shortage of potential pockets to pick and under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be difficult to grab some wallets. Today, though, he felt unco-ordinated and awkward and clumsy and he wasn't certain that he could make a clean lift.

Still. He had to try. He avoided the honeymooners and the desperate and tried to find the professional gamblers, the men who took losing money as part of the game. Trouble was, they were already inside the casinos. In the end, he decided to go for the businessmen, in town and looking for a little stress relief. His mouth twisted. Wasn't so long ago he'd been doing his best to avoid them.

Twice, his fingers almost made the dip. Twice, he stopped himself. His hands balled into fists and he shook himself. He needed to focus. He could do this. He took a deep breath and concentrated on all the things Saul had taught him: how to carry himself, the timing, the speed.

A few moments later and he was walking away with a wallet with thirty dollars. Thirty dollars. Not nearly enough.

* * *

The coup was glorious and bloodless. Explosives to distract and gas to subdue and by the time the gas had worn off, the men were overcome, relieved of their guns and tied up.

The man with the scar and the bleached blond hair and the gold teeth was sitting scowling on the floor.

"You're dead, old man! You're so fucking dead! No one messes with Romero and lives!"

"Well, that is the absolute truth."

A crisp voice spoke and Saul looked up to see the silver-haired man looking slightly the worse for wear walking through the door with Carter behind him. The man's clothes were torn and he was sporting a few weeks' worth of beard and a few bruises but he was still unmistakeable.

"Saul Bloom, I presume," the man said then added, "Actually, I don't presume. I know."

"Hello, Romero." Saul shook his hand.

"Long time, no see. I apologise for being inconvenienced. My former employee, Giorgio, here," a hand waved dismissively at the man visibly cowering on the floor, "got a trifle ambitious."

"Mr Romero, a little misunderstanding-"

"Be quiet!"

Romero bent down and smiled at the man. It was not a nice smile.

"You got lucky, Giorgio. I was careless and you got lucky."

"We didn't kill you," Giorgio whined.

"No, no. You just decided to take my place. To redirect my income. To settle yourself and your men into my home." Romero shot a quick disdainful glance around the room at the empty vintage wine bottles buried under the pizza cartons. "I can see that you've been making yourself comfortable."

He straightened up and turned to Saul. "I'm sure the only reason he agreed to see you was that you were from out of town and the possibility that we had met before didn't occur to him. Giorgio's imagination is strictly small time. Nowhere near the size of his greed."

"You're OK?"

"Relatively speaking. Giorgio was convinced that in time I could be persuaded to share _all_ my secrets. Let's just say I'm grateful you intervened. Thank you for the rescue."

Saul's eyes looked over Romero's shoulder at Carter, intending to give credit where credit was due but Carter shook his head infinitesimally.

Saul settled for "I had a little help."

Romero looked at him thoughtfully and then at Carter.

"Well, then I thank you all. Why did you come looking for me? What do you want, Saul?"

Saul gave an involuntary glance in the direction of Giorgio.

"Please," Romero said. "You can speak freely."

Dully, Saul realised why. Same reason that Romero had used his name. He took a deep breath.

"I'm looking for someone. A young con man who goes by the name of Rusty Ryan. He's talented with cards and he has natural hands when it comes to emptying other people's pockets. He's seventeen, blond, good-looking and I would like to know if he's in San Francisco."

"You're going to an awful lot of trouble to find him," Romero mused. "And I mean you must know, Saul, that there are going to be consequences for Giorgio. You always struck me as a man with sensitivities where such things are concerned."

Saul said nothing. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't desperate. And he knew that freeing Romero didn't guarantee co-operation. He tried his best to keep the pleading off his face and prayed that Romero was feeling grateful _enough_.

"Well, I find myself indebted. And therefore inclined to look favourably on your request. I take it that you want me to use my networks?"

Saul nodded.

"Very well. Come back to me in three days. I will have news."

Stevie appeared.

"We good?" he asked Carter then realised he was interrupting. "Sorry."

Romero turned his attention on him immediately. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Stevie Atherton," Stevie said promptly at the same time as Carter said, "Introductions aren't necessary."

Stevie blinked and there was a moment of awkward and then Carter added smoothly, "We're just pleased you're alright."

It was an exit line and Saul recognised it as such.

"Thank you, Romero," he said sincerely.

"Thank _you._ If you would excuse me, there are some things I would like to discuss with Giorgio."

* * *

There had been twelve men to take down. John, Paul, George and Keith had been led by Carter through the sewers and into the bowels of the house where they'd waited for Stevie to play a hapless taxi driver and Rod to trigger the firework assault on the house.

Now, Scott's men had gone on their way and Saul sat in his hotel room sharing a bottle of whisky with Carter, Stevie and Rod.

"So, he's going to help," Rod checked. "To look for the kid."

Saul nodded. "He was in an accommodating mood."

Stevie gave a shrug. "Romero seemed a nice enough guy."

"Believe me," Carter murmured. "You don't want him to know too much about you. He'll find a way to use it."

Stevie looked unconvinced but Saul acknowledged the comment with a slight nod. Romero had a reputation for playing with information. And whilst a lone conman wouldn't provide much sport, Carter and his network would be an entirely different game.

Conversation drifted on to a new con that Rod was working on and a job where Stevie was hooking up with Gianfranco and it wasn't till much later that Saul found the opportunity to have a private word with Carter.

"I didn't think," he said immediately. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have come."

Carter's face crinkled into a smile that was all about the _"Of course I should have" _and the _"It's Rusty"_ and Saul didn't have an answer for that.

* * *

**Day Twenty-four**

Who knew how long later and Rusty had close on seventy-five bucks and he knew he wasn't going to be able to go on. The last guy had nearly spotted him, he was sure and he'd had to cross the street to make sure he was out of eyeline. Maybe he should take this haul and buy a room for a night and start again tomorrow.

Then again, if he spent the money, he'd be that much further away from the total. Reluctantly, he pushed away the idea of soft and clean and warm and looked for the next mark.

"Hey, I know you."

It took a moment for Rusty to realise the man was addressing him. He stared at him. He didn't recognise the man at all.

"Sure, kid. Outside The Dunes. You were trying to get in the casino and you didn't have ID."

That had been… Rusty tried to remember. A while ago.

"You looking for a little action?" the man asked, leaning in and lowering his voice. "I know a fine little poker game I can take you to."

Poker. Off the streets and sitting down and maybe the chance to make the rest of the cash. Warily, he nodded.

The man's name was Dex and the poker game turned out to be at the Silverbird, two doors down. There was a private room off and Rusty found himself sitting down at the table with Dex and four others.

"Right, gentlemen," Dex said, picking up the deck of cards. "Let's play poker."

* * *

The game was fixed. It had taken Rusty a few hands and a few losses to realise. Even though his brain felt like it was being pummelled, he forced himself to concentrate on the players.

Dex was running it. Of that, Rusty was certain. But Bob and Frank were in on it too. They were all three trying not to look at one another in the way that really suggested they wanted to.

The other two players – Jimmy and Noah – were out of towners, underage and trying to act so much older, so much cooler than they really were.

Rusty ran a hand over his mouth. He was no one's mark.

* * *

It was later. Jimmy and Noah had been cleared out and had gone. The pot had grown and Dex, Frank and Jimmy were circling.

Rusty felt like shit but he was damned if he was going to give up. He wanted that cash. He _needed _that cash. And it was his deal. Carefully, he laid out the cards.

"Alright," Rusty said abruptly. He licked his lips. "Alright. Frank?"

"I'll take two."

"Bob?"

"I'll take three."

"Dex."

"Two."

"Dealer takes two."

Full house. Aces over threes.

"Hey, man, you OK?"

Frank, sounding concerned.

"I'm fine," Rusty lied. "You want to…"

He tailed off. They weren't listening to him. All their eyes were focused behind him. Someone. Huh. Someone was there. He twisted his head and stared.

The man with the dubious fashion sense and the big fat cigar came and sat down next to Rusty. The man said nothing. Just puffed on the cigar and looked at Frank. Rusty had the impression there was a conversation going on somewhere that he couldn't hear.

Frank licked his lips. "I fold."

The man nodded and his gaze shifted to Bob.

"I fold too," Bob said shortly, throwing his cards down.

The man nodded again and then stared at Dex. Dex's chin lifted and he stared right back.

"I've got four tens here," Dex said mutinously.

Rusty stared at him. That wasn't the hand he'd dealt him.

There was another puff on the cigar and Dex's shoulders sagged.

"I'm out," he said disgustedly.

"Looks like it's your pot, son," the man said pleasantly, waving the cigar in the direction of the pile of money.

Rusty didn't make a move.

"Take the goddamned money," the man said without heat.

Rusty glanced round at the other three men but Frank and Bob weren't meeting his eye and Dex just gave an angry shrug of permission.

"Thanks." Rusty said to the stranger, pulling the cash towards him. He wasn't sure what had just happened and his head hurt too much to try and figure it out but the nett result was he had what he needed to go and buy from Santos.

"Times are tough, you know," Dex scowled.

"I _do_ know," the man said and there was a real compassion in his voice and then his tone sharpened, "but robbing teenagers? That's not the way."

Dex looked like he wanted to argue further but Frank was nodding.

"Sorry." It was directed at both Rusty and the man with the cigar.

There was a nod – of approval? Of dismissal? – and then the three of them left and Rusty was left sitting with the stranger.

"Reuben Tishkoff," the man said, smiling, swapping the cigar over and holding out his hand.

He could shake his hand. The man had saved him from being cheated, after all. Names were a different matter.

"Thanks," he said again and the smile on Reuben's face widened.

"My pleasure. I don't like to see people taken advantage of when they don't deserve it."

Huh. That sounded like something Saul would say.

Reuben was looking at him with a look of the casual and the curious.

"You look hungry."

He was. He blinked in surprise as his stomach growled. God, he was ravenous. When had he last eaten? The burger with Rachel and Jo-Jo seemed an eternity away.

Reuben nodded. "Let's have some supper."

Supper didn't seem quite right for some reason. Rusty finally figured out why.

"It's half-past two in the morning," he pointed out and it didn't matter to him but it might matter to Reuben.

It didn't.

"Then let me buy you breakfast." Reuben summoned a waiter and brandished a bundle of cash. "Bring us one of everything on the menu until we find something we like."

"I can pay for myself," Rusty said stubbornly after the waiter had left.

Reuben just smiled, puffed on the cigar and then stubbed it out in an ashtray.

"Can't really blame Frank and the others. MGM Grand caught fire a couple of weeks back. Did you hear about that?"

Rusty shook his head, regretting it as he did so. This pain was getting worse.

"Haven't been in town long."

"Bad business." Reuben shook his head. "People died. The casino's closed down for refurbishment. Those three were dealers. They've been out of work and it's nearly Christmas. That's a whole heap of pressure right there."

He looked at Rusty. "Makes it understandable. Doesn't make it right."

"I can take care of myself," Rusty argued. "I know cards."

"Dealers," Reuben said as if it explained everything. "The very best are on another level."

Rusty opened his mouth to argue further but the waiter appeared with a tray of club sandwiches and sodas and Rusty flicked a glance at Reuben then picked up the nearest sandwich and tore into the bread and meat and salad.

For a moment or two, all he could concentrate on was the food. There was a little soft noise of enjoyment and he realised it was from him. He glanced at Reuben but the only expression on Reuben's face was one of indulgence. Like he'd treated a kid to an ice-cream sundae.

He wiped his mouth. "So, you make a habit of breaking up dealers' games?"

Words were a struggle. And he wasn't sure that he wasn't missing something here. Something really obvious.

Reuben didn't answer him. Instead, he was frowning.

"You look awful, kid," he said gently. "Why don't you let me help you."

"'m OK." Rusty ran a hand through his hair.

"Sure you're OK. You stand up and you'll be flat on your back. Look, my place is just round the corner-"

From nowhere, enlightenment arrived and Rusty pushed the chair back from the table, sudden realisation burning through him.

"Reuben Tishkoff. RT. _Artie…"_

Reuben looked puzzled. "Yeah. RT. Some of the guys call me that."

Artie. Silk sheets. Champagne.

"No. No." Rusty shook his head and gave an involuntary moan. He stood up, gripping the edge of the table. "No."

"Rusty!" Reuben was on his feet too.

"_No!"_ Rusty backed towards the door. "Stay away from me!"

He needed to get out of there. He needed to…he needed to…

His legs went and he collapsed, dropping to the floor like a stone.

* * *

A bed. A soft bed.

* * *

A glass of wet pressed to his lips. He drank without opening his eyes

* * *

"Rusty? Rusty? This is Stan. He's a doctor."

There was a hoarse cry and only he knew he was screaming at the top of his lungs.

* * *

Hands. Hands on him. He wanted to fight and he couldn't. He couldn't.

The tears came and wouldn't stop.

* * *

More water. Pills. He tried to spit them out but the hands were insistent.

* * *

He slept and his dreams were filled with nightmare.

* * *

**Day Twenty-five**

A hand was on his. Rusty forced his eyes open and saw Saul. He closed them again. He was dreaming. Artie had him. Silk sheets. Champagne. Doctors.

"Rusty?" Gentle and it _sounded_ like Saul. He made the effort and opened his eyes once more.

It _was_ Saul.

It was _Saul_.

Rusty's fingers clutched Saul's like he never wanted to let go. Saul looked like he was crying. That wasn't right.

"Oh, Rusty." Saul's voice was thick and heavy and he leaned over and pulled Rusty to him, burying him in a fierce embrace.

Saul felt like comfort and safety and home.

"Where…? How…?" So many questions.

Saul sat back. "You're safe. You're in Vegas and you're at my friend Reuben's house."

Reuben…Artie... Rusty sat up straight and his mouth was working but no words were coming out.

"Hush, hush," Saul put his hand on his cheek and eased him back on to the pillow. "Reuben's a good guy. Hotel owner, distinctive dresser and dreadful gossip. He's also stood right behind me, isn't he?"

Rusty's eyes said yes.

"Hey, kid. How are you feeling? Doctor Stan says you've got some concussion going on."

There was a long moment as Rusty looked from Reuben to Saul to Reuben again and then his heartrate slowed to normal and he swallowed.

"I'm fine," he whispered.

"He's a worse liar than you are, Saul."

Saul smiled fondly down at him. "Here's what we're going to do," he said in a voice that brooked no arguments. "You're going to rest up for a couple of days and then I'm taking you home."

Home.

This time when he slept, his dreams were happy.

* * *

A/N: Quick note. In O13, Rusty says he met Reuben when he looked him off getting cheated at an all dealers' game at El Rancho. El Rancho did not exist in 1980 in Vegas. There was a casino of that name that closed down twenty years earlier and there was the Silverbird that was renamed El Rancho in 1982. I've kind of gone with the idea that Rusty calls it by its modern name in O13.

Hope you've enjoyed so far. :) I always appreciate people taking time to let me know what they think.


	33. A Simple Plan Part Ten

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: didn't create anything Oceany.

A/N: Day 9 of the 2011 Advent Calendar

Chapter Thirty-three: A Simple Plan Part Ten

* * *

**Day Twenty-five continued**

Rusty was sleeping. Sleeping easier than he had been when Saul had first arrived and Saul should know. He hadn't left his bedside apart from a quick call to Annie to let her know he'd found him. He could still hear the sobs of happiness.

"Dominic's making lunch. Here." Reuben pushed yet another coffee into his hands.

"Thanks," Saul said gratefully.

It had been nearly a month of searching and he'd been kept going by the need to find. Now that the search was over, it was like a tidal wave of weariness had hit him.

"I've phoned Bobby, Carter and Scott," Reuben said. "That everyone?"

Saul nodded, not taking his eyes off Rusty. "That's everyone."

He reached out and laid his hand close to Rusty's as if he still wasn't quite sure Rusty wouldn't disappear from view.

**Rewind…**

"_Vegas."_

_Saul's heart leapt. Bobby sounded certain and confident._

"_When?"_

"_He reported his card stolen on Friday."  
_

_This was Sunday. Two days ago. Two_ days ago.

"Thank _you."_

_He phoned Annie. It wasn't six o'clock but he needed to share this lead. It was the warmest he'd found._

"_Annie, he's in-"_

"_Vegas! Oh, Saul, I'm so glad you phoned!"_

_How…? The answer came to him in an instant._

"_Ah…Reuben," he said._

_Oh, thank God. _

"_Reuben," Saul repeated happily._

_The journey from San Francisco to Vegas went by in a frantic blur. A plane, a cab and pushing past Dominic without so much as a hello until he stood in the bedroom doorway, trembling, staring down at Rusty. unconscious and not daring to blink in case this was just a mirage._

_A hand on his shoulder and he'd reached up blindly and grasped it, not trusting himself to speak. _

"_It's OK," Reuben murmured. "And so is he. Stan says so."_

_Stan had called by later and Saul had heard the results of his examination first hand. _

"_He's suffering from concussion," Stan said in a low voice, checking Rusty's pulse. "Looks like he's had an almighty blow to the back of the head recently."_

"_He reported his bank card stolen on Friday," Saul told him._

"_Maybe he got whacked when he was robbed," Reuben suggested. _

"_Maybe," Stan nodded. "He's also sustained bruising on his body and there are marks on his arms. Defensive for a guess."_

_Visions of Rusty being punched and beaten ran inevitably and unpleasantly through Saul's head. Rusty, down on the ground and pulling his arms around himself to protect himself._

"_Hey." Reuben's hand was on his arm. "He's safe now."_

He was. He'd found him.

* * *

**Day Twenty-six**

Rusty opened his eyes, feeling surprisingly refreshed, and there was Saul. And seeing Saul…seeing Saul was just…

"How you doing?" Saul asked softly.

"'m OK," Rusty said and his voice was weak but he meant it.

"Here." Saul held out a glass of water and Rusty shuffled up into a sitting position.

The water tasted wonderful. He gulped it down, ignoring the "Steady" from Saul, and was still trying to drink when Saul pulled the empty glass out of his hands.

"Steady," Saul repeated gently. "How's the head?"

"Better." It really was.

"It's early. Are you up to a little breakfast? Stan said you could have some plain food – some buttered toast?"

Rusty's mouth started to water. He nodded. Saul got up and crossed to the door and spoke in a low voice to someone, presumably passing on the request.

He glanced around the richly furnished room. Reuben certainly had money. Then he looked down at himself. Lime green and candy pink striped pyjamas. Wow.

"Toast is on its way," Saul said, returning to his bedside. He must have seen Rusty's reaction to the pyjamas because he added, "I told you Reuben's fashion sense is flamboyant."

"I wasn't objecting," Rusty said with a smile and then his face grew serious. "Saul, I don't want you to think I was ungrateful for what you and Annie have done for me. You've been…"

OK. He didn't have words to complete that sentence that were even close to summing up what Saul and Annie had been. He settled for:

"The point is I never want to be the reason why you guys are hurting. Because Millicent…" The name tasted vile. "She won't stop, Saul. And she'll enjoy it."

Saul didn't say anything for a moment and then he reached over and took Rusty's hand.

"We've lived with Millicent for a while now. And she's…"

He broke off and he seemed to be having as much difficulty finding the words as Rusty had a minute ago. He took a breath and tried again.

"There'll come a time when you want to leave Annie and me. We don't expect you'll want to stay with us forever. But leaving this way? Leaving because of Millicent? It's wrong."

The grip on Rusty's hand tightened.

"We will sort out this assault thing with Millicent, I promise you."

And Saul's eyes were definite and they were asking for trust and belief and he'd placed both of those in Saul a long time ago.

Rusty found himself nodding and Saul was smiling and blinking hard and it was probably a good thing at that point that the toast arrived.

Breakfast was delivered by a man with a self-deprecating air who practically glided into the room.

"Mr Bloom, Mr Ryan," the man said pleasantly, depositing the tray on the table near the bed.

"Please, Dominic," Saul said with a hint of amused reproach.

"Mr Saul, Mr Rusty." Dominic bowed his head gracefully.

"Thanks," Saul said and handed Rusty a plate.

The man nodded politely and floated back out again.

"Dominic?"

"Reuben's…" Saul frowned and shrugged. "Not sure how you'd describe him, actually. Butler doesn't sound right."

Rusty bit into the toast. God, it tasted good. He lost himself for a moment in the hot bread and the melted butter. He'd forgotten how great something as simple as toast could be.

"Stan's calling round some time soon," Saul said. "He'll be pleased to hear you've been eating and drinking."

"Does Stan work for Reuben too?"

Saul shook his head. "Stan's his own man. But he's a good guy to call if you're in a jam. Like Marty. Doesn't ask questions. Just helps."

Rusty nodded and then a stray glance took in the chair where the Hungry Groundhog T-shirt and jeans were neatly folded. He closed his eyes and then opened them again.

"I lost my jacket, Saul. Some guys jumped me and they… They took it."

Along with his watch and his wallet but the jacket was the thing. Saul and Annie had bought it for him.

"S'only a jacket," Saul said softly. "And it's only a car."

Rusty blinked. Saul knew…?

"How do you know about the car?"

Saul smiled. "Bobby. One of my friends. He's an FBI agent and I told him about you and he told me all about Thalia and how you rescued her."

Rusty started to shake his head in a dismissive manner.

"You were brilliant," Saul told him. "And resourceful." His face darkened. "I'm sorry you ran into Peterson though."

Bad breath and intimidation. Rusty swallowed. "You know him too?"

"Not firsthand." Saul hesitated. "Annie met him," he added shortly.

"_How?" _ Rusty didn't like the thought of Annie coming anywhere near Peterson.

"Peterson came digging. Think he was trying to pin stuff on you."

Rusty shuddered involuntarily.

Saul was silent for a moment and the way Saul's fingers clenched into fists, it seemed likely Peterson was in his thoughts. He slowly unclenched them.

"Point is, Rusty, the jacket and the car don't matter. You do."

And like so many things Saul said, it was said like it was truth. Another truth hit Rusty. Just something in the way Saul had mentioned Bobby.

"You were looking for me," he said slowly.

"Of course," Saul said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

That was… He couldn't quite believe it. No one had ever bothered about him like this before.

Saul was looking at him thoughtfully. "Whatever happened while you were away, you tell me as much as you want to tell me, right?"

Rusty nodded. Saul had said something similar when he'd first gone to live with him and Annie.

"But I have to know something." Saul went on and then his voice dropped to a whisper. "Did anyone hurt you?"

Saul wasn't talking about the fists and the feet. Not just about the fists and the feet. He was talking about… Marmalade's face flashed before Rusty's eyes and he could taste the whisky and smell the flat and feel Tyson's weight pinning him down...and before that with Peterson, threatening to take him away to get better acquainted…and then after with the guy in the cinema who'd wanted to be friendly in the wrong way…

Nothing had happened. Not really. Not compared to other times. Which meant that there was only one answer.

"No, Saul," he said clearly. "I didn't get hurt."

Saul held his gaze for a moment and then nodded and the smile broke through in his eyes like water through a dam.

* * *

Stan arrived shortly afterwards and smiled to see Rusty sitting up in bed. The smile grew when he spotted the empty plates.

"You've got your appetite back? Good. Let me check you over and see if you can get back on your feet."

"You want I should-" Saul made to stand up but Rusty shook his head. He wanted Saul there.

As he worked, Stan exuded a calm, professional air, full of reassurance and encouragement. When he'd finished, he gave a nod.

"You should be fine to travel tomorrow. Give yourself another day of healing." Stan dug into his case. "I'll give you these tablets. If the headache comes back, take them."

"Thanks," Rusty murmured.

"And I know that's America's playground out there, but take it easy," Stan smiled. "Why don't you start by grabbing yourself a bath?"

* * *

Reuben's bathroom was gold. The bath was gold. With gold taps. And mirrored gold tiles were all over the wall. Basically, there was a lot of gold. Rusty lay back in the bath that Dominic had drawn and let the bubbles close over his body.

God, that felt good. Great, even. Just like the toast. The warmth of the water drew out the aches in his body and eased the residual discomfort. He glanced down at his body. The bruises were yellowing. Soon they would fade. Soon there would just be the memory.

After the bath, he stepped out to find underwear and a selection of clothes waiting for him. He picked up a pair of chinos. His size. Huh. For a brief moment, the pride in him started to object. Then the pragmatic took over. Wasn't like he had a great deal of choice.

Rusty selected the chinos and a long-sleeved cobalt-blue shirt. They looked like the least expensive things on offer but even they seemed to ooze luxury.

He walked back through to the bedroom to find Saul asleep in the armchair and Reuben sitting on the couch reading the financial pages of the paper and puffing on a cigar.

Reuben smiled at him. "Nice bath?"

"Yeah." Nice was an understatement. "These clothes…"

"Are they OK?"

Rusty nodded.

"Good. I asked Dominic to go find something you might want to wear."

Reuben puffed on his cigar and looked pleased with himself and somehow it didn't feel the right time to offer to pay for the outfit. Even so, Rusty opened his mouth to do precisely that. Reuben gave him a look that stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't even think about it, kid."

Rusty gave a reluctant nod and then glanced across the room. Reuben followed his gaze to where Saul was snoring gently and then patted the chair next to the couch. Rusty sat down in it.

"He didn't stop looking for you, you know," Reuben said and there was fondness in his voice.

It was still revelation and yet it had been shared like it was obvious.

"He was searching non-stop. And he had all his friends looking too." Reuben pulled a grainy faxed photo from his jacket pocket. "That's how I knew who you were."

Rusty took the photo and stared at it. His face stared back.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you, Rusty," Reuben said quietly. "Back at the poker game. I didn't mean to."

The poker game. Two days ago? Three?

"S'OK," Rusty reassured him. "I wasn't thinking too clearly. And thank you," he added belatedly. "For looking after me. For calling Saul."

Reuben's face lit up.

"My pleasure," he said sincerely. "And I'm sorry we didn't meet under better-"

Saul came to with a start. "Rusty-!"

"I'm here," Rusty told him and he saw the panic slowly fade.

"Bad dream," Saul said. He looked at Rusty and the smile made Saul seem so much younger.

Bad dream. That's what the last few days felt like. Marmalade and the welcome to Vegas and the ambush. And now he felt like he was waking up.

* * *

Dominic had provided a light lunch and with every mouthful, Rusty felt strength returning.

Reuben had offered a tour of Vegas "as it should be seen" followed by a meal at his hotel. It was hard to say no to Reuben. Not that Rusty wanted to. This was Vegas, after all.

Reuben summoned a limo with drinks and snacks in the back of it. Rusty settled into the leather seats and smiled at Saul sitting opposite him and thought that this was living indeed. They toured the Strip and Reuben kept up a running commentary.

"The Dunes. Now that opened back in the mid-fifties. It didn't have the two towers back then though. The North Tower was '61 and the South Tower was just the other year. Everyone used to sing there." Reuben's voice grew wistful. "Dean. Judy. Frank." He shook himself. "S'different nowadays. Much more about the bottom line. Well, it was always about that but now it's so much more so."

Reuben's voice spoke of a changing Vegas and Rusty could read more than a hint of nostalgiac sadness.

"Reuben shook Sinatra's hand," Saul said with a hint of pride and that in itself was impressive intimacy with fame but intuitively Rusty realised this somehow meant something more. He looked quizzically at Saul.

"It's about honour," Saul explained. "About a code. About behaving decently."

"Things change," Reuben said with a sigh and then gestured out of the window. "Here's the Flamingo."

* * *

They arrived at Reuben's hotel at about 6pm. As the car stopped, Rusty looked up at the enormous sign advertising the Xanadu.

"Why the name?" he asked curiously.

"It's a fantasy land," Reuben smiled. "And this is the place for dreams. Now, let me check in with my manager and then we can head down to the restaurant."

They walked across the casino floor, drawing a few looks from customers and staff and in the case of one pretty black waitress, an exclamation. Rusty glanced at her enquiringly and then his attention was taken by a smartly-dressed man approaching them.

"Charlie," Reuben acknowledged. "How are things today?"

Charlie launched into a brief but comprehensive summary of takings, new guests, incidents that Reuben needed to be aware of.

"Good," Reuben nodded. "Anything else?"

Charlie hesitated. "Someone wants to see you. Came in yesterday too. Said he only wants to talk to you."

"Do I need to be worried?"

"I don't think so. Don't recognise him as a big loser. He seems harmless enough but he wanted to wait for you. I asked him to wait in one of the side-rooms."

"What's his name?"

"He won't say," Charlie shrugged.

"Mystery man." Reuben turned to Saul and Rusty. "You guys go on ahead to the restaurant. Charlie'll show you to my table. I'll see this guy and catch you up."

* * *

Reuben found himself walking in to find a one-time dealer at the MGM Grand sitting awkwardly with a glass of water.

"Frank, isn't it?"

"Mr Tishkoff," Frank began with the air of one who had been rehearsing a speech, "I wanted to say how sorry I was about the other night. With the kid."

"You said sorry then," Reuben pointed out.

"Yes, sir," Frank nodded. "I wanted to say it again. I-I've been feeling bad about it ever since. I shouldn't have listened to Dex but since the fire…" His gaze dropped down to his hands. "That blond kid didn't look none too good." He looked up at Reuben and said fiercely, "I do know right from wrong, Mr Tishkoff." The fight seemed to leave him. "Anyway. I wanted to apologise."

Reuben said nothing for a moment, choosing instead to study the man. Mid-twenties for a guess. Well-manicured hands. And an interesting mix of aggression and humility.

"Thanks for the apology, Frank. But it's not me you should be saying sorry to."

"Well, I don't know where the kid is right now," Frank said with just a hint of the sullen that disappeared the minute it was there. "I just don't want you thinking bad of me, Mr Tishkoff. Everyone knows you're Vegas royalty."

Reuben smiled. It wasn't flattery. It was like reluctant truth. He lit up a cigar and blew a ring of smoke.

"Come with me."

* * *

Charlie had shown Rusty and Saul to Reuben's table.

"How are you holding up?" Saul asked after the waiter had handed them both menus and disappeared.

"Little tired but I'm OK," Rusty said truthfully. "I like him," he added.

"Reuben?" Saul smiled. "What's not to like? He's generous and he's fun to be around."

"How'd you meet him?"

Saul was silent for a moment and then he said, "Well, I was younger. So was he. I came to Vegas looking for some loose pockets and quick wins. Trailed a couple of guys who looked promising targets – flashing the cash and with arrogant manners to match. Turned out Reuben wasn't too impressed with them either. He kicked them out of the Xanadu for running up an enormous bar bill and refusing to pay it."

"What happened?"

"They were laying in wait for him," Saul shrugged. "I was in the right place to help. Afterwards, when the cops had taken them away, he bought me a meal and I paid their bar bill."

"You paid…?"

"Picked up their wallets," Saul said nonchalantly. "Seemed only right to pick up their debt."

"Rusty?" Reuben was walking up to the table. "Someone I'd like you to meet. Properly."

Rusty looked behind him. There was Frank from the other night. The dealer who'd tried to cheat him. Frank looked as surprised as he felt but recovered.

"Kid, I just want you to know I…I'm sorry." Frank tailed off and then stuck out a hand.

Rusty stared at it and then up at Frank, full of sincerity and also full of pride. He nodded and watched the relief bloom in Frank's face.

"Frank Catton," Frank said, his hand still outstretched.

Rusty shook it. "Rusty Ryan. Nice to meet you."

"Frank's joining us at the Xanadu," Reuben said through puffs of cigar smoke.

Frank looked at him in sudden delight. "You mean it?"

"Can always use a good dealer, Frank. Especially one with the right kind of morals."

* * *

The rest of the evening passed without incident. Delicious food, fun company and stories galore. Rusty sipped a pink milkshake and listened to the reminiscences, not even noticing how tired he was until he suddenly let out a yawn.

"Time to go back," Saul said firmly.

Reuben insisted on seeing them through to the front of the hotel and summoning his limo.

"Ask Dominic for whatever you want. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Just as the limo pulled up, there was a shout.

"Rusty!"

All three of them turned round. A petite woman with elaborate glitter make-up and a trenchcoat pulled round herself was running in dangerously high heels towards them.

"Jo-Jo?" Rusty said wonderingly.

"Oh, Rusty, you're OK!" Jo-Jo's arms were flung round him and he allowed himself to be buried in a fierce embrace. "I was so worried about you! You left without saying a word!" She pulled back and smiled up at him. "My friend, Rae, said she saw you here tonight and she came to find me and I'm so glad she did. I was so _worried! _So was Rachel."

"Rae Simmonds? She's one of my waitresses?" Reuben checked and Jo-Jo nodded.

"Yes, Rusty was lying on the couch when she came round."

Reuben raised an eyebrow in Rusty's direction that spoke volumes. Jo-Jo spotted it.

"It wasn't like that," she scolded and proceeded to explain exactly what it was like.

"And I'm so glad you're OK," Jo-Jo finished with a beam. She looked at Saul. "He's a real hero."

Rusty shook his head uncomfortably and then caught sight of the pride in Saul's eyes and the fond amusement in Reuben's.

"I've got to get back to work," Jo-Jo said regretfully. "I'm up on stage in five minutes. McCall's Revue Club," she added matter-of-factly. "Come see me another time maybe?"

She kissed Rusty on the cheek and there was the whiff of exotic and perfume and then she was gone into the crowds.

Reuben was looking at Rusty anew. "What a nuts life you lead," he said approvingly. "Now, get in the car and go back and get some goddamned rest."

**Day Twenty-seven**

They woke up the next morning to Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve and they were in the wrong part of the country and Rusty didn't want to point out to Saul that the commercial airlines were probably maxed out. He didn't know much about travelling at holiday time but it was supposed to be frenetic.

As it turned out, there was nothing to worry about.

"A Christmas gift from me," Reuben said indulgently as they pulled up at the airfield.

"A private jet?" Rusty said disbelievingly.

"Well, not to keep," Reuben clarified. "But it'll get you to JFK."

Saul clasped his hand and opened his mouth. Reuben got in first.

"Don't even think about it. Just come back and see me some time, huh? You too, Rusty. Life can get very dull without visitors."

* * *

Even if the flight had lasted ten seconds, it would have been ten seconds too long. It seemed forever until they were walking up the path in the dusklight and opening the door and Annie was there, crying and hugging both of them at the same time.

Annie. She'd lost weight, Rusty noted with a grimace. And the way she held on to his arm like she was never going to let it go…

He hadn't meant to hurt her like this. He hadn't meant to hurt either of them. He thought back to the tears that Saul had shed at his bedside. All this time and he'd not wanted to think about how he himself felt. Feelings ran so much deeper on all sides than he'd really understood.

"Please," she whispered, in between sobs and it wasn't hard to work out what she was asking.

Rusty nodded. "I won't do it again, Annie."

He wouldn't run away from them, even for the best of intentions. They were family and he belonged.

Saul suddenly let out a sigh. "Too much to hope for that Millicent eloped with a one-legged jockey while I was away?"

Annie spluttered through her tears and shook her head.

"Guess we're visiting her for lunch tomorrow," she managed.

"That's tomorrow," Saul said firmly. He smiled fondly at Rusty. "This is tonight. Welcome home, Rusty."

* * *

A/N: and _that_ is the end of the chapter arc.


	34. The 25th of December

Body and Soul by InSilva

Disclaimer: I didn't create any Ocean characters.

A/N: hoped to have this out at Christmastime. Failed.

Chapter Thirty-four: The 25th of December

* * *

Annie had woken up twice in the night and padded along the landing to Rusty's room, pushing the open door further ajar and checking that Rusty was still there. Still in his bed. Still with them. She'd padded back to bed and snuggled up to Saul and her thoughts kept coming back to Rusty.

Apart from the story about Thalia, Annie didn't know many details about his time away but she knew that Rusty had been hit and hurt. The marks on his face were faint and there was nothing else visible but still she knew. And she'd seen Saul suffering enough times that she could imagine the hidden bruising all too easily, the discolouring and the ache...

But Saul had said Rusty was OK and Rusty was _there_ and Rusty had promised and that was enough. That was more than enough.

She'd dozed fitfully, her mind troubled. Now it was first light and she opened her eyes and saw Saul blinking awake also. She kissed his cheek and he wrapped his arms round her and squeezed her tight. In all of that there was happiness and thankfulness and no need for words.

Eventually, he whispered into her hair, "Happy Christmas."

Annie sighed. "I don't think it's going to be."

"Maybe Millicent'll cancel," Saul suggested. "Maybe her house is overrun with mice."

Annie gave him a rueful smile. "How likely is that?"

"If I'd been back sooner, _extremely_ likely," Saul muttered.

"Even if she did cancel, it's not like I've got any food in. I haven't put any decorations up. I haven't bought any presents- Oh!" She sat up in bed.

"What is it? Presents?" Saul frowned. "I don't give a damn about presents and we can spoil Rusty the other side-"

"I haven't bought a present for Millicent," Annie explained. "She's going to expect one."

"Oh…" Saul nodded and sighed. "Yes, she is. Tell you what. Let's get some breakfast and then see what we can find."

* * *

Rusty was lying awake in his bed. _His_ bed. And it wasn't just about the actual, warm and comfortable as it was. This belonging… He didn't think he'd ever take it for granted. He'd _never_ felt like he'd belonged. Not with his mom and dad who had looked up only occasionally from their lives – _shouting, gambling, loan sharks, drinking, shooting up, screaming -_ to acknowledge him. And after death and desertion and being dumped…he certainly hadn't felt like he belonged with his aunt. She'd resented him from the start, looking at him with bitterness in her eyes like he was an ugly stain on her sofa, and he didn't think for one minute that she'd wept heavily when he'd left.

And on the streets…with MacAvoy… that life… He shook his head angrily. That hadn't been him. It _hadn't. _That wasn't what he was. Even though there'd been times when he'd wondered if he'd ever get up and out of it. Times when the dirt was overwhelming, when he'd nearly gotten lost in the self-loathing and the disgust and the soul-screaming. When everything had clung to him so tightly it had almost choked hope.

But Saul had happened. Saul and Annie who had shown him life could be surprising for the right reasons. And Rusty would never forget how that felt.

He washed and dressed and headed out to the landing. Saul was about to walk down the stairs.

"How did you sleep?"

"It's good to be back, Saul," Rusty said sincerely.

"You feeling alright? How's your head?"

"I'm fine." He was. He didn't need to sell a lie.

Saul smiled. "C'mon. Let's go and find some food."

* * *

When Annie knew that Rusty and Saul were on their way back home, she'd run out and grabbed a shopping bag of essentials but she hadn't really wanted to leave the phone any more than she had when Rusty was missing. She just felt happier knowing that she wasn't missing any calls.

Consequently, breakfast was more haphazard than she would have liked. Oh, she could offer up toast and coffee but she wanted to have pink milkshake and bagels on the table and she ought to have made pancakes and syrup and there should have been cereal where frosted sugar was involved.

"S'OK," Saul said as if her thoughts had poured out of her head and across the table.

"It is," Rusty nodded.

"It's not the way Christmas should be," Annie sighed. "I want to make you both the most wonderful meal"

Saul put down his slice of toast and squeezed her arm. "This_ isn't _the way Christmas should be. This isn't going to be about Christmas." He looked at Rusty. "This is going to be about getting through a meal with Millicent. She's going to be…"

He tailed off and really, it wasn't like he had to complete that sentence. Annie knew what Millicent was going to be like. They all did.

"We get through it. Whatever she does, we don't give her the satisfaction."

There was steel in Saul's voice and he looked at each of them in turn looking for the same resolution and nodding when he found it.

"Whatever she does. Whatever she says. However deep she digs. We get through it," he said again. "And then in a couple of days we have Christmas – _proper_ Christmas, Christmas as it should be. Decorations and presents and food and together…the works. Yes?"

"Yes," Rusty agreed.

Annie looked at her husband, the man who made everything right. She smiled. "Yes."

* * *

She'd found a present for Millicent: the drawer-liner that Beryl had bought her last Christmas. That had thrown up another problem: Beryl.

"You think she'll be there too?" Saul asked.

"I guess," Annie gave him a weak smile.

"Wonderful." Saul shook his head. "You got a present for her?"

"No…" Annie frowned and thought for a moment and then said with relief, "I've got some pickles and preserves. Those'll do for Beryl. And there's the present Marty dropped off for you a few days back."

"She's not getting the Scotch."

Annie smiled. "No, she's not. I was thinking about wrapping paper. I _might_ have some from last year but if not..."

"Did you see him?"

"No, it was on the front doorstep." She hadn't heard Marty at the door and she hadn't even had the chance to say that Saul was out of town.

"I need to drop his present off. Of course, I need to buy it first." Saul ran a hand over his face and sighed. "This is a complicated Christmas."

* * *

They arrived at Millicent's house a little before midday. The outside had little white fairy lights running over the bushes and around the windows. Neat. Colourless. Sterile. Saul couldn't imagine that Millicent would have anything else.

"Best smiles on," Saul muttered as he led the way up the steps and rang the doorbell.

"Annie, darling!" Millicent exclaimed happily as she flung the door open, as if she'd been looking forward to this moment for the longest time. "And the boys are back in time too. Do come in."

She stood to one side and smiled as they walked past her into the hall with the frosted silver tree with the carefully co-ordinated blue bows and baubles. Saul thought about Annie's little Christmas tree with the time-worn decorations that was full of love and the right stuff. No contest.

Millicent herself was dressed in something silver and sparkly and short and about twenty years too young for her. Saul set his jaw as he saw the smile she directed at Rusty: it was full of pearly-white deliberation.

"So nice to see you again, Robert. Did you have a good trip? Did you miss-?"

"Here." Saul thrust the present at her.

Millicent let out a little squeal of delight. "Oh, you shouldn't have." The tone of her voice suggested that they really, really should. "Well, do come through."

They followed her through to the living-room with the cream walls, the thick burgundy carpet and the cream sofas.

"We wondered if Beryl was…here." Annie tailed off as she saw her sister, sitting upright in a chair with a glass of sherry. "Happy Christmas, Beryl."

Beryl gave a sniff. "Happy Christmas, Annie. Saul." She looked at Rusty and gave a flash of a tight-lipped smile that indicated she'd either forgotten his name or that he was below proper acknowledgement.

Annie took her presents over to her and Beryl handed over her own gift. Annie bent and gave her sister an awkward kiss on the cheek.

"Are we unwrapping them now?" Millicent asked. "Let's unwrap them now."

She tore the paper off, exposing the drawer-liner.

"That's what I got for you last Christmas, Annie," Beryl said at once.

Saul saw the flush rising in Annie's face. Annie remained hopeless at lying. He stepped in smoothly.

"We liked it so much we thought we'd give some to you, Millicent."

Millicent looked from Saul to Annie as if debating whether or not to push the point. Then she smiled. "It's very lovely. Thank you."

Beryl was staring at her jar of chutney and her jar of jam like they had landed from Mars.

"What a charming idea. What a clever little housewife you are, Annie," Millicent said.

Annie unwrapped Beryl's present of embroidered lace handkerchiefs. "Thank you, Beryl."

"You're welcome." Beryl sounded like she'd much rather have kept the handkerchiefs for herself.

"Isn't this lovely?" Millicent giggled.

* * *

There was a giddiness about Millicent that made the hairs rise on the back of Rusty's neck. Something…there was something… He glanced at Saul who met his eyes and gave a slight nod. Saul felt it too.

The doorbell rang and startled, Rusty turned his head. Annie and Saul looked equally disconcerted. Who else were they expecting? Millicent excused herself and disappeared into the hall returning a few moments later with the new arrival.

"Hello," Sam Rollason said to the room at large, handing Millicent the flowers he was carrying. "I'm not late, am I?"

"Not at all," Millicent assured him. "Drinks, everyone?"

* * *

Millicent had disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Annie and Beryl together. The three men stood slightly apart from the women.

Sam was there and Rusty didn't quite know what to make of it but it was good to see Sam again. He hadn't done any work at the garage for an absolute age and he liked Sam. He liked the stories and the directness and the knowledge of the man.

"How you doin', Rusty?" Sam smiled, beer in hand. "You been away?"

Rusty nodded.

"Went out of town for a bit. Car broke down," he volunteered before he remembered that he didn't have the car anymore and had to hide the grimace.

"Really?" Sam brightened. "What was the trouble?"

Rusty sketched out the problem with the fuel-line and that was all Sam needed to launch into the technical and the practical.

Rusty sipped the warm orange squash – _"You sure you don't want a beer, Robert? It is Christmas, after all." _– and kept an ear on the conversation. All the while he was watching Saul's eyes keep flicking over to Annie and the little smiles of reassurance she kept flicking back at him.

"It was nice of Mrs Rowntree to invite me."

Rusty's attention was suddenly back on Sam. "When did she, Sam?"

"Called into the garage a few weeks back. Asked after you. Asked how you were getting on."

Saul made a disapproving noise which Sam didn't appear to hear.

"She said she was throwing a little get together at Christmas time and would I like to join her. To be honest, I wondered if she…" Sam broke off, blushing slightly. "Never mind. She's always been Mrs Rowntree to me but she said to call her Millicent and she said you were all coming over and I thought, 'Why not?'"

"Why not indeed?" Saul said heavily.

Millicent appeared in the doorway, her arms full of presents. "My turn to play Santa Claus. Gather round."

They did so, Saul sitting in the middle of Annie and Rusty on one of the sofas, Sam taking a seat in the chair next to Beryl. Millicent remained standing, smiling round the semi-circle.

"Let's start with you, Annie."

Millicent handed over a rectangular package wrapped in richly red paper. Annie gave her a little smile and then carefully unwrapped it and choked back a little gasp. From the other side of Saul, Rusty could make out a silver photo-frame with the photo of a man smiling up.

"Silly me," Millicent tutted. "That's not for you at all, that's Beryl's."

She pulled the present from Annie's hands and handed it to Beryl who exclaimed, "My Jack!" Her fingers fluttered up to the brooch with Jack's hair in it pinned to her blouse. "Oh, that's a lovely picture, Millicent. Thank you."

Rusty could see how pale Annie had gone, he could see the tension in Saul's face, the way Saul's hand next to him was clenched into a fist, the way Annie bowed her head to compose herself. Fuck, Millicent knew how to turn the knife.

"_This_ one is yours, Annie."

Millicent pushed a long, thin package on to Annie's lap. Annie licked her lips and hesitated.

"Oh, _do_ get on with it, Annie," Beryl muttered crossly.

Her fingers trembling a little, Annie unwrapped and opened the box. She pulled out the bracelet and the gold shone.

"I had it inscribed," Millicent said. "Read what it says."

Annie looked up at her and then down at the bracelet. "_Friendship," _she whispered and then looked at Saul. "_It never ends."_

Millicent took it off her and clicked it into place around Annie's left wrist. "Doesn't that look beautiful?"

It looked… Rusty bit his lip.

"Here you are, Saul."

Saul practically snatched the present from her and tore off the paper, staring down at the travel alarm-clock.

"I thought it would come in handy for when you go away. Look, there's even a place where you can put a photo of Annie. I'm sure you think about her often when you leave her on her own."

Saul closed his eyes for a moment and Rusty saw him managing the pain of all the times that he'd been out of town and Annie had needed him. Millicent's expression was one of breathy delight. She'd planned all this out. A little circus of reactions that she could feed off. And Beryl and Sam were there to remind them that none of them could step out of line. Words he couldn't say bubbled up inside Rusty.

Millicent noticed. "I haven't left you out, Robert."

She dropped something soft and light into his lap and he pulled off the paper angrily. It was a blue silk tie.

"I thought it would go well with that blue silk shirt of yours," Millicent murmured.

The blue silk shirt. The one he'd been wearing when she'd tried to… The memory of that struggle flashed through him. Rusty swallowed hard, his fingers digging into the tie.

"All very generous of you, Millicent," Saul said tersely, breaking the moment.

"And here you are, Sam." Millicent handed over the final parcel.

"For me? I wasn't expecting anything." Sam's face lit up. He unwrapped a book and read the title. "_Assault! A true story."_

"It's about the hunt for this guy who was preying on women," Millicent explained. She smiled beatifically in Rusty, Saul and Annie's direction. "Turned out he was only a teenager."

Rusty could _feel_ the effort it was taking for Saul not to explode with anger.

"Youth of today," Sam shook his head. "Well, I'm not much of a reader, Mrs Rown- Millicent, but thank you. I'll give it a go."

"So much better to give than to receive, isn't it?" Millicent beamed. "Shall we go through to the dining-room?"

The table was set up with six places, one at each end, two either side. There was crisp linen and silverware and crystal glasses and it was laden with covered serving dishes. Millicent stood waiting for comment.

"It looks marvellous," Annie said with what sounded like as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

"You've made a real effort," Saul added and he wasn't even trying to sound enthusiastic.

"So nice that you think so," Millicent smiled. "Come on in and sit down."

* * *

Annie was first to the table and she saw with a sinking heart that Millicent had laid out name-cards. Beryl was at one end of the table, Saul was sitting next to her, Sam was sitting next to Saul, Millicent at the other end… Annie walked round the corner and saw Rusty's name next to Millicent. At once, she snatched it up to swap it with her own. Millicent tutted.

"I-I want to sit next to you, Millicent," Annie protested. She lifted her wrist with the bracelet. "Friendship, right?"

"But it's Christmas," Millicent remarked. "Family comes first."

Family did. That was the point. Annie stared at her.

"Sit next to your sister," Millicent said gently.

Sit next to… Annie looked at Beryl who was looking back at her expectantly.

"S'OK, Annie," Rusty murmured, moving past her to sit opposite Sam.

"Annie, we're all waiting for you," Beryl complained.

With a sigh and a smile to cover the sigh, Annie took her seat. She cast an anxious look in Rusty's direction and another at Saul. This meal couldn't be over soon enough.

Saul was looking at him, asking if he was alright: Rusty shot him a reassuring look. This was nothing. This was just Millicent playing games. He could handle it.

"Would you like to say grace, Beryl?" Millicent asked and bowed her head.

One by one, they all bowed their heads and Beryl began.

Rusty started. Millicent's hand was on his knee. He couldn't quite control the flash of shock in his eyes as he looked at her, eyes closed, demure expression plastered on her face. Underneath the tablecloth, his hand closed around Millicent's to dislodge it. Immediately, she squeezed his knee and then clasped his fingers, gripping his hand tightly. Rusty gritted his teeth and did his best to pull free.

The silent battle lasted until Beryl said "Amen" and Millicent released him.

"Saul," Millicent began, "would you like to help me pour some wine?"

She and Saul filled the glasses – _"No, Robert, I insist." – _and then Millicent raised her own.

"Thank you all for coming. I've really looked forward to this. To happiness."

They echoed the toast and Millicent stood up and lifted the cover of the meat platter. Rusty heard the almost-moan from Annie and frowned then realised.

"A Christmas ham!" Sam exclaimed. "That looks delicious!"

* * *

Saul had eaten the ham. He'd eaten the Brussels sprouts with the bacon lardons.

"_I wanted to keep the flavours flowing through. More roast potatoes, Saul?"_

The roast potatoes had been cooked in pork fat. Saul ate them without tasting them. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. He kept smiling at Annie who looked like she was biting back on the anger just as she had at that meal an age ago. Rusty was angry too on his behalf. Saul concentrated on telling them both that this was nothing. This was just Millicent.

This was nothing compared to that damn picture of Jack that Millicent had made Annie open. Now that he knew what that man had done… He made himself swallow the anger along with the ham. He couldn't lose it.

In some ways, it was a good job Millicent had invited Beryl and Sam. Between Beryl's droning accounts of whatever affliction she was currently suffering and Sam's stories about the garage, there was at least conversation around the table.

Sam seemed to be enjoying himself. Millicent kept topping up his glass and had her elbow on her table, her chin in her hand, rapt by Sam's anecdotes. At least she was leaving Rusty alone. He caught Rusty's eye and smiled. They were doing what he'd said they would do. They were getting through it.

* * *

Rusty smiled back at Saul and projected calm and control. Millicent's hand had squeezed his leg more than once through the course of meal, feathering up his thigh like she had some sort of right. He couldn't react. If he let a sliver of this out, Saul would… Annie would… And in front of Beryl and Sam, Millicent would turn the story round somehow. Just like she had when she'd tried to… And then _that_ story would get told and Beryl would believe her and Sam… Rusty looked over at Sam drinking the wine and laughing and lapping up all the attention Millicent was giving him. Maybe Sam would believe her too. Rusty thought about the look in Sam's eyes.

Wasn't the first time he'd had to bury reaction at being touched. Millicent wasn't even the first person who had done their deliberate best to get under his skin by laying hands on him. He hadn't given the man with the swordfish tattoo the gratification of seeing the effect of his actions and he'd be damned if he was going to treat Millicent any differently.

He stabbed a potato and waited for the meal to end.

* * *

The dessert was a chocolate Yule log with whipped cream. Sam's smile got wider. This had been a terrific meal. He drank down some more wine and told Millicent so. She gave a little tinkly laugh. Like music. She really wasn't a bad-looking woman. He grinned happily across the table at Rusty.

"Enjoyin' yourself, Rusty?"

"It's great," Rusty replied.

Sam blinked. Didn't seem like Rusty really meant it. Ah… Sam thought he knew why. He reached across the table and patted Rusty's hand.

"Don't fret, son. There's plenty more fish in the sea."

Rusty was staring at him, unblinking. Looked like he didn't understand.

"Lila," Sam explained. "S'OK, Rusty."

The stare was still there.

"Lila?" Millicent asked and Sam turned his head towards her but she was looking right at Rusty. "Who's Lila?"

"Lila Blake," Sam said helpfully. "Used to be the waitress at the diner round the back of the garage. Rusty used to come back to the garage after lunch with this soft look on his face…" He smiled at the memory. "Rusty was seeing her for a while but…"

He tailed off, suddenly aware that Rusty's stare was ice-blue and cold as hell. Shit. He didn't mean to upset the kid.

"What happened?" Millicent asked and she was still looking at Rusty.

Sam didn't answer. For one thing, he thought he'd said enough and for another, he didn't think the question was for him.

"Millicent-" Annie began but Millicent shushed her.

"Do tell," she insisted and she was right up in the kid's personal space now.

Rusty finally shifted his gaze to Millicent and Millicent was getting the Ice Cold in Alex look now. "Nothing to tell."

"Did she break your heart?" Millicent sounded sympathetic. "That must have been _awful_ for you."

Rusty said nothing.

"Was she special?"

The barest twitch of a muscle in Rusty's mouth and then Saul's fist slammed down on the table and they all jumped.

"So help me, Millicent-" Saul began.

"Leave the kid alone," Sam finished. "Saul's right. I'm sorry, Rusty. I didn't mean to be hurtful."

Rusty gave him a brief nod that said it was alright and then Beryl spoke up.

"Lila? What sort of name is Lila? Sounds like a horse on a carousel."

"S'probably short for something," Sam said quickly, glad that he could change the subject. "Like my proper name is Samuel but the only person calling me that would be my father when I'm in trouble."

The tension eased a bit. Annie gave him a watery smile and Saul gave a grunt that might be a half-laugh.

"What about you, Robert?" Millicent asked. "Should I start calling you Rob?"

There was a pause.

"Rusty does me well enough, Mrs Rowntree."

"Suits you," Sam agreed. "You don't suit a Rob. What about you, Millicent? Anyone get to call you Millie?"

The look she flashed in his direction was sharp enough to slash a tyre.

"Only once, Sam," she said coolly. She turned her attention back to the table. "Now. Let's clear up and move through to the other room, shall we? I've got _such_ a surprise lined up."

* * *

There was a moment. A moment when Millicent had asked Annie to help clear the dishes into the kitchen and Sam had insisted on helping her. A moment when Beryl, having taken up residence in the armchair once more had ordered Saul to go back for her glass of sherry. There was a moment when Rusty had turned back around and found Millicent behind him.

"Hello, baby, having fun?" she breathed.

Beryl was sat in the same room. Annie and Sam and Saul were a shout away. Maybe that was the point. Her fingers danced lightly up his arm and he pulled it away sharply.

"Get off me," he snapped and she let a little bit of pink tongue show.

"Playing hard to get?" she murmured. "I've told you before. You don't need to pretend."

"Rusty?" Saul was back in the room, concern writ large on his face.

"Have you got my sherry?" Beryl demanded. "What took you so long, Saul? Might as well be next Christmas."

"Here you are."

Even as he handed Beryl the glass, Saul's eyes were still on his and wordlessly, Rusty told him it was all alright. Saul's eyes moved over to Millicent, shooting her a look of deep distrust. Millicent smiled and glided away from Rusty just as Annie and Sam came into the lounge.

"Now. Take your seats, everyone," Millicent said and moved to the other side of the room, opening up a cupboard and humming to herself as she did so.

"Rusty?" Sam touched his elbow. "Can I have a word?"

"Sure."

Sam launched into unhappy apology. "I'm really sorry, Rusty. About saying about Lila."

"It's OK, Sam." He knew Sam hadn't had a clue of the ammunition he'd handed Millicent.

"Really, Rusty. I didn't mean to stir things up." Sam looked close to tears. "I'll make it up to you."

"Sam, you don't need to do anything. It's all fine."

"Here we are!" Millicent returned with a projector. "Movie time."

* * *

Rusty watched as Millicent whirled around the room, drawing the curtains and making sure they were all sat down and had drinks.

"The perfect hostess," Saul muttered bitterly as Millicent bent over the projector.

Annie risked leaning across Saul. "You OK?" she whispered at Rusty.

"Yes," Rusty smiled a smile that Annie could trust in. "You?"

Annie nodded and returned the smile. It looked about as genuine as his.

"Alright, here we go," Millicent announced. "A trip down memory lane. I found this the other day when I was clearing out one of the rooms and I thought it would be fun to watch together."

Rusty stared at the wall as the projector whirred into life and black and white silent images flickered up on the wall. It was another Christmas party. He frowned. The dining room was familiar. With a rush of cold dread, he realised it was Saul and Annie's. That meant…

Saul was there on screen and so was Annie and alongside their younger selves, were two women. Beryl was one, laughing and giggly. Almost unrecognisable. And the other…had to be Millicent. Her hair was longer but it was her alright.

"Do you remember this Christmas?" Millicent asked. "I was married to Stephen and he'd bought me this camera. This was him trying it out."

A man walked in the room and immediately turned his back on the camera shaking his head.

"Jack was always the joker," Millicent laughed.

Jack? The man who'd attacked Annie? Rusty stared at the man but he was busy hiding himself from the lens while Saul was laughing and trying to encourage him to turn around.

"Such good friends," Millicent murmured. "Look how happy we all were."

Rusty glanced down. Saul's knuckles were white around his wine glass. Back on the makeshift screen, Jack still had his back to the camera and Saul was draping a napkin over Jack's head and knotting it like a pirate's scarf.

"Do you remember disguising Jack? Do you remember borrowing my eyeliner?"

When Jack finally turned round, he had a Brussels sprout eye-patch and a twirly eyeliner moustache. Jack roared for the camera's benefit, his face distorted by the role he was playing.

"Ah, Jack. Always such fun to have around."

Saul's face was drawn with haunted misery he couldn't hide as he watched himself in ignorant friendliness with Jack. Rusty looked past him to where Annie had her hand pressed to her mouth. A well of unhappiness that Millicent had uncovered to thrust them down into.

The film flickered into blackness and Rusty breathed a sigh of relief. At least this was over. And then it started up again.

This house was different. Grander. Rusty didn't recognise it at all. A big sweep of a hall and the camera was focused on a man standing looking through a doorway into another room.

The man was handsome. It wasn't difficult to imagine those features rippled through with easy charm and confidence. But right now it was obvious that the man didn't know he was being filmed. Right now, the man's face was very far away from self-assured and relaxed. It was full of the unblinking and the intense.

"Jack Claverson. Such a good-looking man." Millicent sounded wistful. "I loved filming him when he didn't realise."

Jack finally noticed the camera and started, scowling at it and presumably at Millicent. He stormed off in the opposite direction and the camera watched him walk away then slowly panned round to show what Jack had been looking at through the doorway.

A woman sat at a desk, her hair tucked back around her ear, her legs crossed and a shoe dangling off a foot. She was concentrating on ledgers, totally absorbed in her work, no clue as to the camera's presence, certainly no idea that she had been the object of the man's scrutiny. Annie.

"Oh, _Saul_." Annie's words were barely breathed.

Enough. Rusty opened his mouth but the words he was going to say came from another.

"Stop it, Millicent. Stop it." Sam was on his feet and striding over and drawing back the curtains. "Can't you see it's upsetting her?"

Sam was staring at Beryl who had a handkerchief pressed to her face and who was sobbing quietly.

Millicent's lips tightened and then she turned off the projector.

"I'm sorry, Beryl. I didn't mean to distress you."

No, Rusty thought savagely. You had other people in mind.

"He was just so lovely and kind and wonderful and now he's g-g-gone!" Beryl disappeared into a noisy snuffle and there was the sound of breaking glass.

Annie exclaimed and Rusty looked down to see Saul's hand bleeding where the wine glass had finally given way under pressure.

"Take him up to the bathroom, Annie," Millicent instructed. "Try not to let him bleed anywhere."

"No," Saul said. "I'll be fine by myself."

He was facing Annie and Rusty couldn't see his face and there was some conversation going on that Rusty couldn't hope to read.

"Go with him, Rusty," Annie said. "Make sure he's OK."

"Of course." Rusty was on his feet and helping Saul up and leading him out of the room and he saw Saul doing his best to make sure that the blood dripped everywhere it could.

* * *

Upstairs in the bathroom, Saul sat on the edge of the bath and let Rusty clean the wound and then root in the bathroom cabinet for a dressing.

"Did you see the way he looked at her, Rusty?" Saul asked dully. "Did you see the way he was watching her? Coveting her?"

Saul's face creased. "All that time. That's what he was like. That's what he was thinking."

He could imagine the lust rising up in Jack, fed by frustration, fed by Annie being Annie – smiling and beautiful and open and innocent-

"Hey." Rusty's hand was on his shoulder and Rusty's eyes were anxious.

Saul swallowed hard and shook his head. It was so very raw. Annie might forgive him but he didn't think _he _would ever forgive himself. He _should_ have seen what Jack was like. He _should_ have kept Annie safe.

"Hey." Rusty said again. "You can't let her see you like this."

No. He wasn't sure whether Rusty meant Annie or Millicent but really, he couldn't let either of them see him like this. Millicent would be too gleeful and Annie would be too upset. He took a deep breath and started to nod, started to bury the pain. Then he saw the bathroom floor and sank down on his knees, running his good hand over the carpet.

"This is it," Saul said softly, the agony back on her face. "This is where she lay."

Four hours. Four hours of alone and frightened and bleeding and slipping in and out of consciousness. Four hours where Annie had nearly died.

Millicent. A poison seeping through their lives. He looked up at Rusty. She mustn't hurt him. She mustn't be allowed to control him. She mustn't-

"Saul." Gentle and pained and Rusty kneeled down beside him, offering support and comfort.

Saul clutched his arm. "We'll stop her, Rusty. This assault nonsense." He spat out the words. "You and I. We'll stop her."

It was a promise and a promise of a plan and he saw Rusty nod.

* * *

Downstairs, Beryl had querulously announced she wanted to leave. Sam had offered to see her home.

"Thank you for inviting me, Milli- Mrs Rowntree. I've had a wonderful time. Happy Christmas, Annie. Say goodbye to the boys for me, would you?"

The door had closed and left Annie and Millicent alone.

"I'll clear up the glass," Annie offered quickly and went back to the lounge to do just that.

She knelt down and started picking up the pieces carefully, trying not to think about why it had been broken. About how hurt Saul had been by the home movies. She remembered that Christmas meal. Jack, making them all laugh. Jack, complimenting her on her cooking. Jack, brandishing a sprig of mistletoe and telling her it was traditional. It wasn't long after that that Jack had offered her the little job. She didn't even know when that second piece of film had been shot. Jack, standing there, watching her and she'd not even _realised_…How many times had he done that? Had she done something to _make_ him do that?

Silver sandals sauntered into her line of vision.

"You missed a bit," Millicent said, pointing out a stray shard with her right foot.

Annie collected it.

"Thank you, Millicent," she said, keeping her voice calm in spite of the turmoil inside her.

Annie struggled up to her feet and headed through to the kitchen to dispose of the glass. Millicent followed her. Naturally.

"Have you enjoyed yourself, Annie?"

She placed the remains of the glass in the waste-bin and thought about her answer.

"It's been everything I expected it would be, Millicent," she said truthfully. "You've put a great deal of effort into today."

Millicent smiled. "I have." She reached out and ran a finger over the bracelet on Annie's wrist. "Friendship. That's what really matters to me."

"To me too," Annie agreed and she wasn't thinking about Millicent when she said it.

"That's what I thought." Millicent leant back against the worktop and her face hardened. "You haven't done a very good job since the summer of behaving like a friend to me, have you, Annie?"

Annie was silent.

"_Have_ you, Annie?" Millicent prompted.

"No," she whispered. "I don't suppose I have."

"Seems to me, you could do a much better job," Millicent went on. A small rectangle of card appeared in her hand. "Because I really don't want to be calling up Agent Peterson to tell him what young Robert tried to do. I really don't want to be showing him the photographs-"

"No!" The word was torn out of Annie. Just the thought of that man coming anywhere near Rusty.

Millicent carried on relentlessly. "I'm not sure that Agent Peterson has a very high opinion of Robert. I'm sure he'd want to talk to him about taking advantage-"

"That's not what happened and you know it!" Annie cried. "Millicent-"

"I can give you this card," Millicent murmured.

Annie stared at her. "P-please," she stammered.

"I think you need to earn it," Millicent told her and her voice was gentle and venomous all at the same time.

Annie's shoulders sagged.

"What do you want?" she asked woodenly.

Millicent simply oozed satisfaction and Annie started thinking wildly of all the things Millicent might ask for just because she could. To sell her house or to dye her hair or…

"What do you want?" she asked again, anger rising in her voice.

"I want you to show me what a good friend you can be," Millicent said.

Alright, she could do that. She could invite Millicent for tea whenever Saul and Rusty weren't around. She could go shopping with her. She could go for a meal with Millicent and send her a birthday card and phone her and bake her a cake and do whatever Millicent felt defined friendship.

"And maybe," Millicent continued, "maybe I don't want you to see so much of Lucy."

Annie stared at her. "_What?"_

Millicent's fingers ran over the bracelet again. "Only room for one true friend, Annie."

* * *

Rusty walked down the stairs with Saul close on his heels. Annie and Millicent were waiting at the bottom and Annie was clutching the bow tie and the alarm-clock.

"Saul." Annie looked relieved. "How's your hand?"

"It's fine," Saul said gruffly.

"Beryl and Sam left. I thought it was time we left Millicent in peace too."

Rusty frowned. Annie was brittle-bright. What had Millicent been saying?

"We should wish her a happy Christmas and thank her and go," Annie went on.

Saul looked like he had a million things he wanted to say to Millicent and none of them were anything to do with festive greetings. Annie was silently begging both of them though.

"Thank you, Mrs Rowntree," Rusty obliged.

"Millicent," Saul said begrudgingly.

"Oh, I just hope you enjoyed yourselves as much as I did." Millicent opened the front door. "I hope I'll see you all soon."

Saul just about covered the half-snort. They walked out and the door closed behind them and Saul put his arms around their shoulders.

"Let's get home," he said wearily.

They walked back to the car and Saul was obviously determined to put the day behind them. He talked about what they were going to do. About digging up the little Christmas tree and decorating it; about going into town and buying presents; about a delicious meal and old movies and laughter and family.

"How's that sound?" Saul asked as he pulled up outside their house.

"Sounds…" It sounded like everything that being with Saul and Annie was about. "Sounds great."

"What d'you reckon, Annie?"

Annie suddenly looked completely drained as if the long day of Millicent had finally caught up with her.

"It sounds perfect," she said with a tired smile.

* * *

Millicent glanced round the kitchen. There were lots of pots and pans to clean but that was the point of having a housemaid. Wasn't like she herself had to worry about such things.

She poured herself another glass of wine and walked through to the lounge and started up the projector again. A world of Jack started playing. Damn the man but he was good-looking. She sighed. She'd dangled herself in front of Jack often enough for him to seize the moment but all he'd given her were a couple of clumsy drunken kisses and even before she knew, she'd had the feeling she was second best. She still hated the moment when she'd realised that he wanted Annie.

Annie. An ordinary woman with ordinary looks who wore ordinary clothes and who lived an ordinary life with an ordinary man. And Jack wanted _that_. Her lip curled.

She'd thought that if Jack somehow got Annie out of his system, if he tasted what he'd longed for, then maybe he'd be ready to see what a real woman could do for him.

It hadn't been an explicit plan. It had evolved through a series of half-conversations and complicit looks.

_She'd topped up Annie's drink and she'd led Beryl away and up the stairs and to the room with the twin beds. While Beryl disappeared into the bathroom, Millicent had sat on the edge of Jack's bed and thought about what was going on downstairs. About Jack, forceful, demanding, urgent, taking what he wanted. Maybe it would be that way with her too. Hot breath on her neck, lips burying themselves in her hair, hands moving over her skin like they owned it. Millicent pressed her thighs together tightly. _

_She smiled brightly as Beryl emerged and saw her to bed and then walked out of the bedroom, walked down the landing and paused at the top of the stairs. Right now, maybe, right this very minute, Jack was having sex. On the floor. On the couch. Against the wall. From behind. On top. She closed her eyes, imagined it was her and licked her lips. She was so wet right now. Jack in action. She opened her eyes. She'd fantasised for so long… she had to see for herself._

_She stole down the stairs and crept along the hall and stood in the doorway and stared at the graceless struggle going on. At Jack, grunting and doing his damnedest and Annie, squealing and protesting like a little girl. _

_Millicent felt the anger rise up inside her. How _dare _Jack choose Annie over her._ _How _dare_ Annie refuse him. _

"_MILLICENT!"_

She'd stopped it. She'd thought maybe now Jack would see the light. But he hadn't, of course. And then before he could be persuaded, he'd inconsiderately gone and died.

Millicent raised her glass to the image of Jack on the wall.

"You could have had me, baby. You _would_ have had me, baby. Might take a little time but I always get what I want."

An image of blond and handsome strayed across her thoughts. Mmm. All young and firm-chested and strong-thighed. He'd felt _delight_ful. Mmm. Those hands…those lips…

Millicent smiled. All it took was a little time.


End file.
